fic: passage (4/10) (elle/claire)
Title: Passage (4/10)
Rating: NC-17 (language, disturbing imagery, graphic sex)
Pairing: Elle/Claire; side Adam/Elle, Adam/Claire
Timeline: Post-“ So”
Prompt: “anger” at 10_themes
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them
Teaser: Ten stages between one thing and the next, between lust and love.
Notes: I've said that this is going to get rough, and I mean it, KO?
4, anger
Claire leaves her books open on the table the next morning and Elle peeks through them when Claire’s out of the room for a moment, flips through pages of black text against white paper and pictures in shades of gray. The people in the pictures don’t look like people, stand looking like skeletons with blank eyes as she flips more, finding nothing but creepy images.
She pulls the next book over, flips it open and finds words describing people hurting other people.
Elle’s scanning the third book, is reaching to look into Claire’s notebook when Claire walks back into the kitchen, freezing when she spots Elle caught in the act of violating her privacy. For a moment, her mouth twists and her eyes darken-but then her features go blank as she strides over, snatching the books from Elle and slapping them down on the table.
Elle opens her mouth to mock her for it, tries to remember what she would have said before things had changed.
But things are different and Elle doesn’t feel the same way she used to.
So she can only stare, unsure.
“I’m doing homework.”
“This stuff is creepy.”
Pausing in the act of gathering her things up, Claire looks over at her with a hint of emotion in her gaze.
But then she gives a nasty little laugh and shrugs, turns and leaves the kitchen.
She doesn’t look back at Elle standing uneasy and alone staring after her.
After the weird moment in the kitchen, Claire doesn’t come back home for a week.
Then she shows up on the weekend with bags of KFC and they all eat together while Claire ignores her completely.
Elle picks at her chicken and watches her toss hair over a shoulder and laugh about a trip she’s planning with a friend, a vacation to some place with beaches and half-naked people that are probably a hundred times more attractive than Elle.
When everybody else is busy with clearing the table, she sneaks upstairs to wash her greasy hands carefully.
A tiny part of her thinks she’s going to throw up.
But eventually the queasiness goes away and she leaves the bathroom, ignoring the stairs for her bedroom, unwilling to go back down because even though Lyle and Sandra (and even Noah) are nice to her, Claire isn’t.
Hours later, when Claire finally joins her, it’s even worse than it was the last time.
This time, she shuts the lights off completely, fiddles with the curtains so that the only light comes from the alarm clock, lurid green as Claire kicks off her shoes and climbs onto the bed, not meeting Elle’s gaze as she opens her jeans and peels them off, rolls onto Elle and then guides her hands where she wants them.
When Elle leans up to cautiously press a kiss against her shoulder, Claire jerks backwards, muttering for Elle to do what she says and to stop that. Stung, Elle obeys, intent on getting Claire off so that she’ll roll off and go away and she can do what she did last time she felt so miserable about how Claire has sex with her now.
When Claire finally comes, it looks like it’s hurting her, head falling back and body stiffening in a way that looks painful as she makes a desperate noise that’s muffled but clear when Elle is this close. But then she shudders, pushes Elle away, rolls right off and doesn’t even look at Elle as she simply pulls her jeans right back on without any care.
She walks out of the bedroom with the same bluntness that she came in with, leaves Elle sweaty and dazed.
Then Elle reminds herself that she doesn’t need Claire because Claire doesn’t care.
But her eyes are wet and she’s shaking.
The next morning, Claire eats breakfast the way she does everything now, staring at something only she can see, features flat.
Elle watches her, trying to understand, confused.
Claire is different, is harder and meaner and she doesn’t know when it happened.
So Elle keeps watching her.
At one point, as Claire is pushing a piece of toast through what’s left of her egg yolk, Elle glances over at Noah and finds him typing randomly at his laptop, working at a mug of coffee and looking exhausted, all of his attention on whatever is making him frown unhappily. Losing interest in him, Elle shifts her gaze back to Claire, studying her intently.
Freshly washed, damp hair pulled into a ponytail, she has her own plans for the day, is going to go away again and leave Elle here to sit around feeling miserable. When Elle tilts her head just a little, she can see a bra strap peeking from inside her top, thin line of fabric crossing tanned skin, and she drops her hands into her lap to keep from reaching out to touch it.
It’s just a bra strap.
She doesn’t need Claire.
That night when Claire is gone again, she proves it, hits her peak with a grin on her face.
Then she pulls a pillow against her side and sleeps like that, pretending she’s holding a body that’s holding her.
The more the Claire in her head wants her, the harder it is to keep her hands on the real Claire.
She never calls Elle when she’s gone, which is more and more often now.
She’s gone for days at a time, explains that her classes are getting more intense when she comes by the house for dinner every Friday night to keep Sandra happy. There’s a tight look on Noah’s face as he presses a kiss to Claire’s forehead and strokes her hair but there’s a lie in his eyes that leaves Elle even more flustered.
Things keep getting worse.
When Sandra finally prods one Friday, Claire says she’s staying with a friend and Elle wants to hurt her, tear her nails down Claire’s arms and push electricity into her until Claire apologizes for having sex with her and then not caring.
Claire’s staying with a friend, some other person with a bed where Claire stays, and her brain does the rest.
She clearly wants to spend time with those other people- and-
What else does she want to do with them?
Furious, Elle sits stonily through the meal and stares down at the plate, hates people she doesn’t even know.
When dinner’s finally over, she goes into the living room and tries to breathe because her chest hurts.
Claire wanders around the house for the next few hours but doesn’t even look at her, instead laughs and tells Sandra stories about adventures on campus with her friends, teases Noah about being overprotective and chuckles about how she can take care of herself now so he can save the world without having to worry about her.
Disgusted, Elle slips away as fast as she can to sit up in her room and pretend that her Claire is coming up to see her.
But Claire doesn’t come up to see her that night and though she tries to give herself what she wants, she can’t force it.
Her arm aches.
Noah’s bandaged it, clean white gauze around a brutal gash where broken pieces of a table had caught her as she was trying to climb out of the remains of it, but there’s still a steady ache as she sits in the passenger seat of his car waiting. She scratches the skin around it as she watches Noah talk with one of the other Company operatives, wishing she could read lips.
But she can’t.
Not that it matters anyway.
She’s just the help.
Elle wants to go back to the house where she can pretend that Claire’s been worried about her, will smooth fingers over the bruised skin and murmur words into her neck, curl up at her side and talk about how glad she is that Elle’s okay.
Claire won’t be there when they get back, she’s always gone now, but Elle doesn’t care.
Elle can pretend.
She’s doing that when Noah climbs into the car beside her, sighs and rubs his forehead.
His mouth is tight, his eyes dark, and she hesitates in her fantasies, watches his face.
But he shakes his head when she glances at him curiously and starts the car, pulling away from the ruins of the house where they’ve spent a half-hour trying to corner a telekinetic, where Elle felt like a ragdoll during the worst of it.
It’s not a new feeling.
It’s dusk by the time Noah pulls up at the house, and she’s half-asleep, opens her eyes at the fuzzy sound of surprise that Noah makes as he cuts the ignition. Following his line of sight through the windshield, she sits up completely as Claire comes out of the house and strides towards the car, hair in a ponytail, bare feet moving fast on the concrete.
It’s not Friday and that’s the only time she sees Claire now.
So Claire must be here for a reason.
Pain dimmed by a twist of giddiness, she pushes the car door open and struggles to her feet as Claire looks at her, a fleeting look that makes her heart thump hard in her chest, exhilarated. But then Claire walks past her and around the car, flings her arms up around Noah’s neck and hugs him tight, looking downright giddy in her relief.
It hurts more than the arm.
“The Haitian called,” she says as she pulls away but doesn’t leave her father’s side, keeping a tight grip on his jacket and pointedly ignoring the miserable woman standing and staring at her helplessly. “You went in there alone-”
“We didn’t have a choice, it was a matter of timing,” Noah grimaces, nodding very slightly over at Elle, standing breathless, tense, giving her a fatherly look that hurts as much as everything else. “Elle did a great job.”
Claire looks over at her and Elle holds her breath, waits as Claire’s stares at her arm.
But all Claire says is “Not that great a job” and goes back to making sure that Noah is okay.
Enraged, devastated at the same time, Elle spins away and staggers up the drive way and then into the house, fumbling with the door and pushing it open, trudging up the stairs and into her room. Her shoes are kicked off and then away, and she gets to the bed by memory, unable to see and not caring.
Her chest hurts and her throat burns and she can’t see.
Claire doesn’t care.
Elle wants to pull the gauze open, pick at the gash with a nail even though it would hurt.
But Noah would be upset with her.
Beside the bed, her alarm clock is blinking that it’s past midnight but she can’t sleep.
She wants to pretend but she can’t because when she touches herself, she just sees Claire ignoring her, just feels an ache in her arm that Claire doesn’t care about because Claire doesn’t care. She thinks about getting out one of the magazines but then doesn’t because she’s too depressed to get it out, wants Claire to come in and talk to her.
But Claire doesn’t care about her, just wants Elle to get her off now.
She still feels like a ragdoll and the feeling is getting worse, is curled up miserably when she hears the door open, tensing as it clicks closed again.
The bed dips and she closes her eyes angrily, tightens fingers into the blanket and holds it tight.
Elle doesn’t want to have sex.
Instead, she has an image of Claire sliding into bed beside her, warm skin naked and hands gentle as she lets Elle curl up against her, face tucked into her neck and arm tight around her, breathing Claire in until there’s nothing else.
But the blanket is being pulled off her, a hand pushing her onto her back and then moving down to hook into the fabric of the shorts that she wears when she’s injured. For the first time, she’s glad that Claire never lets the lights stay on now, stares into the dark and ignores how much she wants this and doesn’t at the same time, how confusing it is.
Fingers touch the inside of her thigh and for just a moment, the touch is tender, causing a jolt of awareness.
But Claire pulls her legs open with a jerk of strength and she tenses- then a mouth is on her with a bluntness that she hates even as she shudders helplessly, the ache inside easing before returning with even more force than before. She wants Claire on that usual level but it’s too much because Claire just wants to fuck her and it’s all the same now.
And it almost… hurts a little, the way Claire is working at her, so she tries to pretend it’s different.
She imagines Claire stroking palms along her thighs, murmuring words, but it’s not enough as Claire thrusts with a messy sort of strength and tongues her clit as if she’s trying to prove a point, holding her down with her upper body.
“God,” she whimpers, and pushes down at Claire with her good arm, trying to change the angle.
But Claire’s slim fingers are stroking that spot inside that always makes Elle’s whole body twist itself into knots and it feels good physically even if it doesn’t and Elle shifts again, hooking a leg on Claire’s shoulder and trying to open herself more.
She reaches down, tugs at Claire, wanting to pull her up, hold her, but Claire’s body is tense, tight.
Claire pushes her hand away and she falls back, too swept up to try to have something she doesn’t understand, instead pushing her own shirt up to fumble with one breast, flicking her thumbnail against the tip desperately, trying to come-
When she does, it’s raw.
Elle shudders through it with wet cheeks, injured arm aching as she smothers her mouth with a palm.
Then she feels Claire move between her legs, start to pull away and she panics.
Frustrated, overwhelmed, she bucks upwards to stretch out a hand, body still shaking as she fumbles with her fingers, finds the lamp and nearly takes it down in an attempt to switch it on. “Elle-” She looks down after blinking past her blindness, finds Claire looking flushed with anger, swiping at her face furiously and shoving Elle back into the bed.
She struggles to her feet, moves to switch off the light but Elle reacts before thinking, jolt of blue-white hitting Claire’s hand and making her stagger back in pain, catching the burnt flesh and favoring Elle with a downright hateful look. “Bitch,” she whispers, and Elle does it again, this bolt catching Claire in the shoulder and driving her back a step.
But then Claire stills, breathing heavily, looking exhausted, shoulders hunched a little.
Elle is half-naked, embarrassed, has come harder than she has in a long time and it was good but it hurt at the same time because Claire isn’t Claire anymore and she doesn’t feel like herself anymore and she doesn’t want to have sex like this.
And she’s crying, almost sobbing, can’t help it as emotion bubbles up inside her- “You don’t care about me at all?”
All that greets her is silence and she watches half-blind, hopeful, wanting to see need, the fear of losing her.
Claire is staring down at her, face blank, eyes flat. Her mouth opens but then closes.
Finally, she tells Elle flatly, “Welcome to life.”
And then Claire turns and walks away, clicking the door closed behind her.
Rating: NC-17 (language, disturbing imagery, graphic sex)
Pairing: Elle/Claire; side Adam/Elle, Adam/Claire
Timeline: Post-“ So”
Prompt: “anger” at 10_themes
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them
Teaser: Ten stages between one thing and the next, between lust and love.
Notes: I've said that this is going to get rough, and I mean it, KO?
4, anger
Claire leaves her books open on the table the next morning and Elle peeks through them when Claire’s out of the room for a moment, flips through pages of black text against white paper and pictures in shades of gray. The people in the pictures don’t look like people, stand looking like skeletons with blank eyes as she flips more, finding nothing but creepy images.
She pulls the next book over, flips it open and finds words describing people hurting other people.
Elle’s scanning the third book, is reaching to look into Claire’s notebook when Claire walks back into the kitchen, freezing when she spots Elle caught in the act of violating her privacy. For a moment, her mouth twists and her eyes darken-but then her features go blank as she strides over, snatching the books from Elle and slapping them down on the table.
Elle opens her mouth to mock her for it, tries to remember what she would have said before things had changed.
But things are different and Elle doesn’t feel the same way she used to.
So she can only stare, unsure.
“I’m doing homework.”
“This stuff is creepy.”
Pausing in the act of gathering her things up, Claire looks over at her with a hint of emotion in her gaze.
But then she gives a nasty little laugh and shrugs, turns and leaves the kitchen.
She doesn’t look back at Elle standing uneasy and alone staring after her.
After the weird moment in the kitchen, Claire doesn’t come back home for a week.
Then she shows up on the weekend with bags of KFC and they all eat together while Claire ignores her completely.
Elle picks at her chicken and watches her toss hair over a shoulder and laugh about a trip she’s planning with a friend, a vacation to some place with beaches and half-naked people that are probably a hundred times more attractive than Elle.
When everybody else is busy with clearing the table, she sneaks upstairs to wash her greasy hands carefully.
A tiny part of her thinks she’s going to throw up.
But eventually the queasiness goes away and she leaves the bathroom, ignoring the stairs for her bedroom, unwilling to go back down because even though Lyle and Sandra (and even Noah) are nice to her, Claire isn’t.
Hours later, when Claire finally joins her, it’s even worse than it was the last time.
This time, she shuts the lights off completely, fiddles with the curtains so that the only light comes from the alarm clock, lurid green as Claire kicks off her shoes and climbs onto the bed, not meeting Elle’s gaze as she opens her jeans and peels them off, rolls onto Elle and then guides her hands where she wants them.
When Elle leans up to cautiously press a kiss against her shoulder, Claire jerks backwards, muttering for Elle to do what she says and to stop that. Stung, Elle obeys, intent on getting Claire off so that she’ll roll off and go away and she can do what she did last time she felt so miserable about how Claire has sex with her now.
When Claire finally comes, it looks like it’s hurting her, head falling back and body stiffening in a way that looks painful as she makes a desperate noise that’s muffled but clear when Elle is this close. But then she shudders, pushes Elle away, rolls right off and doesn’t even look at Elle as she simply pulls her jeans right back on without any care.
She walks out of the bedroom with the same bluntness that she came in with, leaves Elle sweaty and dazed.
Then Elle reminds herself that she doesn’t need Claire because Claire doesn’t care.
But her eyes are wet and she’s shaking.
The next morning, Claire eats breakfast the way she does everything now, staring at something only she can see, features flat.
Elle watches her, trying to understand, confused.
Claire is different, is harder and meaner and she doesn’t know when it happened.
So Elle keeps watching her.
At one point, as Claire is pushing a piece of toast through what’s left of her egg yolk, Elle glances over at Noah and finds him typing randomly at his laptop, working at a mug of coffee and looking exhausted, all of his attention on whatever is making him frown unhappily. Losing interest in him, Elle shifts her gaze back to Claire, studying her intently.
Freshly washed, damp hair pulled into a ponytail, she has her own plans for the day, is going to go away again and leave Elle here to sit around feeling miserable. When Elle tilts her head just a little, she can see a bra strap peeking from inside her top, thin line of fabric crossing tanned skin, and she drops her hands into her lap to keep from reaching out to touch it.
It’s just a bra strap.
She doesn’t need Claire.
That night when Claire is gone again, she proves it, hits her peak with a grin on her face.
Then she pulls a pillow against her side and sleeps like that, pretending she’s holding a body that’s holding her.
The more the Claire in her head wants her, the harder it is to keep her hands on the real Claire.
She never calls Elle when she’s gone, which is more and more often now.
She’s gone for days at a time, explains that her classes are getting more intense when she comes by the house for dinner every Friday night to keep Sandra happy. There’s a tight look on Noah’s face as he presses a kiss to Claire’s forehead and strokes her hair but there’s a lie in his eyes that leaves Elle even more flustered.
Things keep getting worse.
When Sandra finally prods one Friday, Claire says she’s staying with a friend and Elle wants to hurt her, tear her nails down Claire’s arms and push electricity into her until Claire apologizes for having sex with her and then not caring.
Claire’s staying with a friend, some other person with a bed where Claire stays, and her brain does the rest.
She clearly wants to spend time with those other people- and-
What else does she want to do with them?
Furious, Elle sits stonily through the meal and stares down at the plate, hates people she doesn’t even know.
When dinner’s finally over, she goes into the living room and tries to breathe because her chest hurts.
Claire wanders around the house for the next few hours but doesn’t even look at her, instead laughs and tells Sandra stories about adventures on campus with her friends, teases Noah about being overprotective and chuckles about how she can take care of herself now so he can save the world without having to worry about her.
Disgusted, Elle slips away as fast as she can to sit up in her room and pretend that her Claire is coming up to see her.
But Claire doesn’t come up to see her that night and though she tries to give herself what she wants, she can’t force it.
Her arm aches.
Noah’s bandaged it, clean white gauze around a brutal gash where broken pieces of a table had caught her as she was trying to climb out of the remains of it, but there’s still a steady ache as she sits in the passenger seat of his car waiting. She scratches the skin around it as she watches Noah talk with one of the other Company operatives, wishing she could read lips.
But she can’t.
Not that it matters anyway.
She’s just the help.
Elle wants to go back to the house where she can pretend that Claire’s been worried about her, will smooth fingers over the bruised skin and murmur words into her neck, curl up at her side and talk about how glad she is that Elle’s okay.
Claire won’t be there when they get back, she’s always gone now, but Elle doesn’t care.
Elle can pretend.
She’s doing that when Noah climbs into the car beside her, sighs and rubs his forehead.
His mouth is tight, his eyes dark, and she hesitates in her fantasies, watches his face.
But he shakes his head when she glances at him curiously and starts the car, pulling away from the ruins of the house where they’ve spent a half-hour trying to corner a telekinetic, where Elle felt like a ragdoll during the worst of it.
It’s not a new feeling.
It’s dusk by the time Noah pulls up at the house, and she’s half-asleep, opens her eyes at the fuzzy sound of surprise that Noah makes as he cuts the ignition. Following his line of sight through the windshield, she sits up completely as Claire comes out of the house and strides towards the car, hair in a ponytail, bare feet moving fast on the concrete.
It’s not Friday and that’s the only time she sees Claire now.
So Claire must be here for a reason.
Pain dimmed by a twist of giddiness, she pushes the car door open and struggles to her feet as Claire looks at her, a fleeting look that makes her heart thump hard in her chest, exhilarated. But then Claire walks past her and around the car, flings her arms up around Noah’s neck and hugs him tight, looking downright giddy in her relief.
It hurts more than the arm.
“The Haitian called,” she says as she pulls away but doesn’t leave her father’s side, keeping a tight grip on his jacket and pointedly ignoring the miserable woman standing and staring at her helplessly. “You went in there alone-”
“We didn’t have a choice, it was a matter of timing,” Noah grimaces, nodding very slightly over at Elle, standing breathless, tense, giving her a fatherly look that hurts as much as everything else. “Elle did a great job.”
Claire looks over at her and Elle holds her breath, waits as Claire’s stares at her arm.
But all Claire says is “Not that great a job” and goes back to making sure that Noah is okay.
Enraged, devastated at the same time, Elle spins away and staggers up the drive way and then into the house, fumbling with the door and pushing it open, trudging up the stairs and into her room. Her shoes are kicked off and then away, and she gets to the bed by memory, unable to see and not caring.
Her chest hurts and her throat burns and she can’t see.
Claire doesn’t care.
Elle wants to pull the gauze open, pick at the gash with a nail even though it would hurt.
But Noah would be upset with her.
Beside the bed, her alarm clock is blinking that it’s past midnight but she can’t sleep.
She wants to pretend but she can’t because when she touches herself, she just sees Claire ignoring her, just feels an ache in her arm that Claire doesn’t care about because Claire doesn’t care. She thinks about getting out one of the magazines but then doesn’t because she’s too depressed to get it out, wants Claire to come in and talk to her.
But Claire doesn’t care about her, just wants Elle to get her off now.
She still feels like a ragdoll and the feeling is getting worse, is curled up miserably when she hears the door open, tensing as it clicks closed again.
The bed dips and she closes her eyes angrily, tightens fingers into the blanket and holds it tight.
Elle doesn’t want to have sex.
Instead, she has an image of Claire sliding into bed beside her, warm skin naked and hands gentle as she lets Elle curl up against her, face tucked into her neck and arm tight around her, breathing Claire in until there’s nothing else.
But the blanket is being pulled off her, a hand pushing her onto her back and then moving down to hook into the fabric of the shorts that she wears when she’s injured. For the first time, she’s glad that Claire never lets the lights stay on now, stares into the dark and ignores how much she wants this and doesn’t at the same time, how confusing it is.
Fingers touch the inside of her thigh and for just a moment, the touch is tender, causing a jolt of awareness.
But Claire pulls her legs open with a jerk of strength and she tenses- then a mouth is on her with a bluntness that she hates even as she shudders helplessly, the ache inside easing before returning with even more force than before. She wants Claire on that usual level but it’s too much because Claire just wants to fuck her and it’s all the same now.
And it almost… hurts a little, the way Claire is working at her, so she tries to pretend it’s different.
She imagines Claire stroking palms along her thighs, murmuring words, but it’s not enough as Claire thrusts with a messy sort of strength and tongues her clit as if she’s trying to prove a point, holding her down with her upper body.
“God,” she whimpers, and pushes down at Claire with her good arm, trying to change the angle.
But Claire’s slim fingers are stroking that spot inside that always makes Elle’s whole body twist itself into knots and it feels good physically even if it doesn’t and Elle shifts again, hooking a leg on Claire’s shoulder and trying to open herself more.
She reaches down, tugs at Claire, wanting to pull her up, hold her, but Claire’s body is tense, tight.
Claire pushes her hand away and she falls back, too swept up to try to have something she doesn’t understand, instead pushing her own shirt up to fumble with one breast, flicking her thumbnail against the tip desperately, trying to come-
When she does, it’s raw.
Elle shudders through it with wet cheeks, injured arm aching as she smothers her mouth with a palm.
Then she feels Claire move between her legs, start to pull away and she panics.
Frustrated, overwhelmed, she bucks upwards to stretch out a hand, body still shaking as she fumbles with her fingers, finds the lamp and nearly takes it down in an attempt to switch it on. “Elle-” She looks down after blinking past her blindness, finds Claire looking flushed with anger, swiping at her face furiously and shoving Elle back into the bed.
She struggles to her feet, moves to switch off the light but Elle reacts before thinking, jolt of blue-white hitting Claire’s hand and making her stagger back in pain, catching the burnt flesh and favoring Elle with a downright hateful look. “Bitch,” she whispers, and Elle does it again, this bolt catching Claire in the shoulder and driving her back a step.
But then Claire stills, breathing heavily, looking exhausted, shoulders hunched a little.
Elle is half-naked, embarrassed, has come harder than she has in a long time and it was good but it hurt at the same time because Claire isn’t Claire anymore and she doesn’t feel like herself anymore and she doesn’t want to have sex like this.
And she’s crying, almost sobbing, can’t help it as emotion bubbles up inside her- “You don’t care about me at all?”
All that greets her is silence and she watches half-blind, hopeful, wanting to see need, the fear of losing her.
Claire is staring down at her, face blank, eyes flat. Her mouth opens but then closes.
Finally, she tells Elle flatly, “Welcome to life.”
And then Claire turns and walks away, clicking the door closed behind her.