Fic: Penetration
Title: Penetration
Author: Corona
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Claude/Bennet
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Bullet holes, fingers and STD's
AN: Written in a fit of madness for
fantasticpants. See the medical knowledge *throws medical knowledge out of the window*
It's a fairly rapid progression from sitting to laying flat on his back, and it takes Bennet a second to process the fact that he probably hit his head quite hard because the world seems far too large and too painful to fit inside his suddenly small and terribly insufficient skull.
The second thing he notices is that his side is apparently on fire.
He forces one of his arms to work, to reach down and try and ascertain what is causing the furiously unpleasant sensation.
It hurts considerably when he touches it, and it's wet, which seems odd as Bennet can't remember spilling anything.
"Bennet!"
He lifts his hand and Claude looks uncharacteristically worried through Bennet's startlingly red fingers.
Ah.
His brain helpfully skips into high gear and supplies the fact that yes, he's been shot.
He's been shot.
"I've been shot," he tells Claude helpfully. Who has some choice phrases to add to this ridiculously obvious piece of information.
"Jesus christ Bennet." Claude's knees hit the floor, kicking up dust and he's tearing Bennet's shirt, which jolts him in a very unpleasant way and makes air burst through his teeth in a noise that is designed purely to convey displeasure.
Also, Claude is tearing his shirt, which under the circumstances Bennet will chastise him for later.
Providing he doesn't die of course.
"Where's Anderson?"
"He's been shot too," Claude snaps and judging by the way his teeth clack together Mr Anderson will not be getting back up again.
Claude's hands drag fabric out of the way and Bennet narrowly avoids taking his head off.
"Jesus christ, jesus, Bennet you're bleeding like a fucking-"
Claude's hands are red, and shiny, and the most disturbing thing Bennet has seen in a while.
"I can't fucking stop it!"
Claude strips off his jacket so fast something rips.
Bennet thinks he should helpfully point out that Claude's cheap jacket and its shoddy material is going to be insufficient padding but Claude is insistent.
Bastard!
Bennet is briefly loud and unhappy and Claude's shirt is now a bloody twisted mess in his fist.
"If you do that again I will hurt you," he wheezes and it really doesn't sound threatening in the slightest but it's the best he can do at the time.
The world briefly goes funny round the edges and Bennet remembers that he needs oxygen and breathes.
There's a sharp jab of pain, inside, and it's not a pleasant sensation. But Claude makes a vague, confused, apologetic and thoroughly disturbed noise.
"Claude?"
Claude's face has gone a troubling shade of white.
"Yeah?"
"Did you just put your finger in the bullet hole?"
"You're not bleeding anymore," Claude says helpfully.
"Claude."
"You're not bleeding anymore!"
"Claude!"
"Yes, I put my fucking finger in the bullet hole!" Claude snaps and Bennet drags a breath entirely due to Claude's irate juddering.
"That's...horrendously unhygienic."
"Well excuse me for being proactive while you were bleeding to death," Claude says shakily, eyes flicking from Bennet's face to his own hand, or at least to where he has one of his fingers currently lodged inside Bennet's body.
Claude sighs quietly.
"What does it look like."
"What does it look like? I have my finger in you, it looks disgusting."
"The wound Claude," Bennet says through his teeth.
"I don't know I have my finger in it, I don't fucking know I've never used parts of my body as emergency first aid before!" Claude snaps.
"The bleeding's definitely stopped?"
"I don't know if you've stopped bleeding...but you've stopped bleeding outwards."
"Clearly we need to call someone," Bennet says carefully, because really being shot hurts considerably.
He suspects it would hurt slightly less if there wasn't a finger inside it.
A quick glance reveals the bar phone is now sporting a giant spike through it.
"I think even if we did phone an ambulance they'd want to know about the three dead bodies and the man with giant spikes for arms," Claude points out.
Bennet lays a tacky hand on Claude's arm.
"Help me up."
"You really haven't grasped the finger/bullet hole situation here have you mate?" Claude says crossly.
"I've grasped it perfectly. We need to leave; your finger, unhygienic as it is, needs to stay temporarily inside my abdomen. Which all leads us to one simple conclusion."
"Which is?"
"I'm driving."
"You're insane."
"No I'm sensible and efficient, and currently missing approximately-" Bennet glances at the floor, and Claude's hand. "A pint or so of blood, so clearly I have the deciding vote on what to do."
"Bennet!"
"And," Bennet says carefully. "If I am indeed bleeding inwards we have to go now."
Bennet very carefully slides his arms round Claude's shoulders.
This is going to be unpleasant.
This is going to be very unpleasant indeed.
Claude calls him something physically impossible. But Bennet has come to suspect that Claude uses inventive insults to mask moments in which he feels powerless.
Considering he's the one currently holding seven pints of blood inside Bennet's body this is a humourous irony.
Claude very carefully bends with him while he gets his feet underneath himself.
It's even more unpleasant than he'd suspected it would be.
And it seems to take half an eternity and Claude keeps making him stop so he can adjust his grip. Which is a vile and unnecessary torture as far as Bennet is concerned.
By the time Bennet is standing the pain is driving all the way up his side in long waves that make him want to throw up.
He doesn't think that would be an appropriate thank you for saving his life.
Though it may be unavoidable.
Walking is...an exercise in misery, and Claude has to stretch round worryingly far to push the door open.
They stand in the threshold of the bar for a quiet second.
"Why did we park so far away?" Bennet asks curiously
Claude doesn't have an answer for him, just gets a better grip on Bennet's waist.
"How exactly are we going to get in the car?"
"I thought you might provide some ideas on that."
"When I woke up this morning I really didn't expect to end up fingering you."
"Please don't phrase it like that," Bennet says through a miserable frown he doesn't even bother to try and disguise.
"It's technically true," Claude complains.
"But sounds more than a little disturbing."
"Disturbing," Claude grumbles. "Do you have any idea what you feel like inside? My brain is in a very strange place right now. I'm touching something and I have no idea what it is and I'm starting to wish I never took biology in school."
Bennet very carefully takes a step, which is exactly as unpleasant as it was inside only now it's colder and windier and generally more painful.
Claude takes a step a fraction of a second after him. Staying out of bumping distance but close enough to...
Act as human first aid, which is a slightly less disturbing way of thinking of it.
Another step, two.
He's certain this was far less exhausting before some bastard shot him.
One more step and-
Stab of vicious fucking pain.
Ow, fucking OW!
Bennet comes to a stop, frozen in motion and he's sweating considerably more than he was a moment ago.
"Ah!" Bennet very slowly wraps a hand round Claude's wrist.
"What?"
"You're too deep."
"Uh?"
"You're touching the bullet," Bennet says carefully.
"I thought that was a bone!"
"In my abdomen?" Bennet says slowly.
"I'm not exactly thinking straight here."
"Just pull out a little."
"How much is a little?"
"A few millimetres."
"I don't want to move it at all, what if you start bleeding again?"
"Claude that's very painful."
Claude very carefully shifts his finger just a little, Bennet hisses.
"It's not exactly easy to judge you know. Your blood's lubricated my finger."
There's a short pause, than a second of nervous laughter.
Bennet sighs but doesn't say a word. The threat of innuendo is significantly better than white-faced horror.
He can practically see it growing on Claude's face.
Bennet sighs again, slightly louder this time.
"It won't be as amusing as you think it is, whatever it is."
"I'm touching your insides."
"You're touching my liver," Bennet corrects.
All the amusements falls off of Claude's face and he swallows carefully.
"Don't you dare!" Bennet says, disbelief rolling off of the words. "Don't you dare."
"I was fine," Claude says thickly. "I was fine you bastard." He looks down.
"Stop looking at it, we have to-" Bennet waves a hand towards the car, then regrets it when he sways alarmingly.
"Get over there, so we can drive back and I can get medical attention...that doesn't involve fingers. Which will, no doubt, instead now include shots for numerous diseases."
Claude scowls at him from not very far away at all.
"Bennet my finger is not going to give you an STD."
Bennet sighs. "I never said it was going to."
"You implied that my finger is more suspect than your average finger."
"I view all fingers as suspect when they're touching my internal organs Claude."
They bump into the car and Bennet hisses, then lays his head on the cool metal for a long moment.
"Bennet?"
He sighs and turns so his face can appreciate the chill as well.
"Bennet!"
"I know, give me a minute."
Claude slides round behind him.
"We want to get this over with as quickly as possible."
"Who has the hideous bullet wound Claude?"
"Whose finger is getting fucking cramp Bennet!"
They sigh at each other and very slowly start working their way round the car.
"You know Thompson's going to find this fucking hilarious don't you," Claude says carefully.
Bennet sighs, that, perhaps, is something of an understatement.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Claude/Bennet
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Bullet holes, fingers and STD's
AN: Written in a fit of madness for
fantasticpants. See the medical knowledge *throws medical knowledge out of the window*
It's a fairly rapid progression from sitting to laying flat on his back, and it takes Bennet a second to process the fact that he probably hit his head quite hard because the world seems far too large and too painful to fit inside his suddenly small and terribly insufficient skull.
The second thing he notices is that his side is apparently on fire.
He forces one of his arms to work, to reach down and try and ascertain what is causing the furiously unpleasant sensation.
It hurts considerably when he touches it, and it's wet, which seems odd as Bennet can't remember spilling anything.
"Bennet!"
He lifts his hand and Claude looks uncharacteristically worried through Bennet's startlingly red fingers.
Ah.
His brain helpfully skips into high gear and supplies the fact that yes, he's been shot.
He's been shot.
"I've been shot," he tells Claude helpfully. Who has some choice phrases to add to this ridiculously obvious piece of information.
"Jesus christ Bennet." Claude's knees hit the floor, kicking up dust and he's tearing Bennet's shirt, which jolts him in a very unpleasant way and makes air burst through his teeth in a noise that is designed purely to convey displeasure.
Also, Claude is tearing his shirt, which under the circumstances Bennet will chastise him for later.
Providing he doesn't die of course.
"Where's Anderson?"
"He's been shot too," Claude snaps and judging by the way his teeth clack together Mr Anderson will not be getting back up again.
Claude's hands drag fabric out of the way and Bennet narrowly avoids taking his head off.
"Jesus christ, jesus, Bennet you're bleeding like a fucking-"
Claude's hands are red, and shiny, and the most disturbing thing Bennet has seen in a while.
"I can't fucking stop it!"
Claude strips off his jacket so fast something rips.
Bennet thinks he should helpfully point out that Claude's cheap jacket and its shoddy material is going to be insufficient padding but Claude is insistent.
Bastard!
Bennet is briefly loud and unhappy and Claude's shirt is now a bloody twisted mess in his fist.
"If you do that again I will hurt you," he wheezes and it really doesn't sound threatening in the slightest but it's the best he can do at the time.
The world briefly goes funny round the edges and Bennet remembers that he needs oxygen and breathes.
There's a sharp jab of pain, inside, and it's not a pleasant sensation. But Claude makes a vague, confused, apologetic and thoroughly disturbed noise.
"Claude?"
Claude's face has gone a troubling shade of white.
"Yeah?"
"Did you just put your finger in the bullet hole?"
"You're not bleeding anymore," Claude says helpfully.
"Claude."
"You're not bleeding anymore!"
"Claude!"
"Yes, I put my fucking finger in the bullet hole!" Claude snaps and Bennet drags a breath entirely due to Claude's irate juddering.
"That's...horrendously unhygienic."
"Well excuse me for being proactive while you were bleeding to death," Claude says shakily, eyes flicking from Bennet's face to his own hand, or at least to where he has one of his fingers currently lodged inside Bennet's body.
Claude sighs quietly.
"What does it look like."
"What does it look like? I have my finger in you, it looks disgusting."
"The wound Claude," Bennet says through his teeth.
"I don't know I have my finger in it, I don't fucking know I've never used parts of my body as emergency first aid before!" Claude snaps.
"The bleeding's definitely stopped?"
"I don't know if you've stopped bleeding...but you've stopped bleeding outwards."
"Clearly we need to call someone," Bennet says carefully, because really being shot hurts considerably.
He suspects it would hurt slightly less if there wasn't a finger inside it.
A quick glance reveals the bar phone is now sporting a giant spike through it.
"I think even if we did phone an ambulance they'd want to know about the three dead bodies and the man with giant spikes for arms," Claude points out.
Bennet lays a tacky hand on Claude's arm.
"Help me up."
"You really haven't grasped the finger/bullet hole situation here have you mate?" Claude says crossly.
"I've grasped it perfectly. We need to leave; your finger, unhygienic as it is, needs to stay temporarily inside my abdomen. Which all leads us to one simple conclusion."
"Which is?"
"I'm driving."
"You're insane."
"No I'm sensible and efficient, and currently missing approximately-" Bennet glances at the floor, and Claude's hand. "A pint or so of blood, so clearly I have the deciding vote on what to do."
"Bennet!"
"And," Bennet says carefully. "If I am indeed bleeding inwards we have to go now."
Bennet very carefully slides his arms round Claude's shoulders.
This is going to be unpleasant.
This is going to be very unpleasant indeed.
Claude calls him something physically impossible. But Bennet has come to suspect that Claude uses inventive insults to mask moments in which he feels powerless.
Considering he's the one currently holding seven pints of blood inside Bennet's body this is a humourous irony.
Claude very carefully bends with him while he gets his feet underneath himself.
It's even more unpleasant than he'd suspected it would be.
And it seems to take half an eternity and Claude keeps making him stop so he can adjust his grip. Which is a vile and unnecessary torture as far as Bennet is concerned.
By the time Bennet is standing the pain is driving all the way up his side in long waves that make him want to throw up.
He doesn't think that would be an appropriate thank you for saving his life.
Though it may be unavoidable.
Walking is...an exercise in misery, and Claude has to stretch round worryingly far to push the door open.
They stand in the threshold of the bar for a quiet second.
"Why did we park so far away?" Bennet asks curiously
Claude doesn't have an answer for him, just gets a better grip on Bennet's waist.
"How exactly are we going to get in the car?"
"I thought you might provide some ideas on that."
"When I woke up this morning I really didn't expect to end up fingering you."
"Please don't phrase it like that," Bennet says through a miserable frown he doesn't even bother to try and disguise.
"It's technically true," Claude complains.
"But sounds more than a little disturbing."
"Disturbing," Claude grumbles. "Do you have any idea what you feel like inside? My brain is in a very strange place right now. I'm touching something and I have no idea what it is and I'm starting to wish I never took biology in school."
Bennet very carefully takes a step, which is exactly as unpleasant as it was inside only now it's colder and windier and generally more painful.
Claude takes a step a fraction of a second after him. Staying out of bumping distance but close enough to...
Act as human first aid, which is a slightly less disturbing way of thinking of it.
Another step, two.
He's certain this was far less exhausting before some bastard shot him.
One more step and-
Stab of vicious fucking pain.
Ow, fucking OW!
Bennet comes to a stop, frozen in motion and he's sweating considerably more than he was a moment ago.
"Ah!" Bennet very slowly wraps a hand round Claude's wrist.
"What?"
"You're too deep."
"Uh?"
"You're touching the bullet," Bennet says carefully.
"I thought that was a bone!"
"In my abdomen?" Bennet says slowly.
"I'm not exactly thinking straight here."
"Just pull out a little."
"How much is a little?"
"A few millimetres."
"I don't want to move it at all, what if you start bleeding again?"
"Claude that's very painful."
Claude very carefully shifts his finger just a little, Bennet hisses.
"It's not exactly easy to judge you know. Your blood's lubricated my finger."
There's a short pause, than a second of nervous laughter.
Bennet sighs but doesn't say a word. The threat of innuendo is significantly better than white-faced horror.
He can practically see it growing on Claude's face.
Bennet sighs again, slightly louder this time.
"It won't be as amusing as you think it is, whatever it is."
"I'm touching your insides."
"You're touching my liver," Bennet corrects.
All the amusements falls off of Claude's face and he swallows carefully.
"Don't you dare!" Bennet says, disbelief rolling off of the words. "Don't you dare."
"I was fine," Claude says thickly. "I was fine you bastard." He looks down.
"Stop looking at it, we have to-" Bennet waves a hand towards the car, then regrets it when he sways alarmingly.
"Get over there, so we can drive back and I can get medical attention...that doesn't involve fingers. Which will, no doubt, instead now include shots for numerous diseases."
Claude scowls at him from not very far away at all.
"Bennet my finger is not going to give you an STD."
Bennet sighs. "I never said it was going to."
"You implied that my finger is more suspect than your average finger."
"I view all fingers as suspect when they're touching my internal organs Claude."
They bump into the car and Bennet hisses, then lays his head on the cool metal for a long moment.
"Bennet?"
He sighs and turns so his face can appreciate the chill as well.
"Bennet!"
"I know, give me a minute."
Claude slides round behind him.
"We want to get this over with as quickly as possible."
"Who has the hideous bullet wound Claude?"
"Whose finger is getting fucking cramp Bennet!"
They sigh at each other and very slowly start working their way round the car.
"You know Thompson's going to find this fucking hilarious don't you," Claude says carefully.
Bennet sighs, that, perhaps, is something of an understatement.