wily_one24
in
noaire
Fic: "School Nights" NC17, Claire/Noah.
Uh, yeah, outing myself. Three ficlets, one story, three YAHAKM prompts.
Title: School Nights.
Author: Jacqui, wily_one24
Pairing: Claire/Noah
Rating: NC17 (like woah)
Wordcount: 1,361/1,495/779
Warning: Um, sex, adoptive incest... probably underage. She's 17, no? BDSM.
Summary: Claire can’t sleep, because sleep does this and he’s there again, Sylar, slicing her skull open and tinkering with her brain like she’s a fucking clock.
***
After a bad dream, Claire sneaks into HRG's bed (no Sandra). What starts out as a comforting touch quickly turns into sex. (No noncon please - but dub-con is totally acceptable if you want to go that route)
***
*~*~*~*
SCHOOL NIGHTS, part one
*~*~*~*
Her throat constricts and her pulse bird beats around her body, she pulls the pillowcase through her teeth sideways to keep from crying out, but her body and her brain won’t be fooled. She can feel the sweat pooling in the small of her back, in her elbows, her breath escaping in harsh, ragged pants.
Claire can’t sleep, because sleep does this and he’s there again, Sylar, slicing her skull open and tinkering with her brain like she’s a fucking clock.
She doesn’t want to, can’t quite work up the nerve to put a name to it, because she’s so close to being a fucking adult and all her protests of the same will mean nothing, but she’s half way across her parents’ bedroom floor and there really isn’t any other name for it but climbing in with mommy and daddy to chase away the monsters.
Then she stops, frozen, because as the figure in the bed stirs and murmurs, she remembers that Sandra isn’t even there, but as eyelids pop open and blink at her, she can’t quite bring it in herself to back away. She figures a half hearted tearful rejection will bring on too many questions and it’s not really a conversation she wants.
So she climbs in anyway and he’s way too perceptive not to notice the hitches in her breathing and the shudders that still tremble through her body.
“Claire.” He sighs, voice thick with sleep and threaded with anger that’s not aimed at her. “I won’t let him come back.”
“Please.” She whispers, thankful for the dark, for the anonymity of it. “Let me stay.”
He does, settling back down, shuffling to make room for her, letting hid hand rest on her shoulder, a comforting weight she’s known for ever. It’s dark and she’s tired and the bed is as always her parents’ bed, warm and snugly and safe, and she sighs almost calm as she sinks closer to him.
He’s behind her and his arm comes underneath her neck to wrap fully around her shoulder and she thinks nothing of it, grateful for the comfort, his other hand slides onto her hip and maybe she blinks a little at that.
“Sh.” He whispers, voice puffing warm air on the back of her neck, soothing but too close. “I’m here.”
And maybe he’s not quite awake, she thinks, stuck in some blurry middle land of responding to her, but not realizing she’s not her mother, because the hand on her hip strokes gentle circles and he moves even closer.
“Dad...”
It’s a soft reminder. An escape clause, her own brain trying to explain the situation.
“Relax, Claire.”
The arm wrapped around her shoulders tightens, pulls her closer to him and she feels him hard at her back, pushing in against her ass, and then she feels fingers sliding up the outside of her thigh, pushing at the hem of the shirt she’d worn to bed.
She stiffens, tightens, grasps at the arm against her neck.
“What are you doing?”
He kisses her then, hot open mouth at the back of her shoulder, sliding up her neck, suckling at the tendons there, and he hasn’t shaved since earlier that morning, bristles scraping roughly against her skin.
“Making you feel better.”
“But...”
His trapped arm slides lower, hand slipping under the neck of her shirt and finding her breasts. She gasps at the sudden feel of it, body jerking, and it puts her in closer contact with his form, she feels his chest at her back and his legs scoop in under hers.
“It’s okay.” The hand on her thigh tightens, pulls her leg backwards, and she’s stretched taut and open. “You need to trust me. Do you trust me, Claire?”
She wants to say no, feels like she should say no as he begins a slow grind against her, both of their bodies pushing and pulling back and forth. But she can’t, can’t actually say it, because it’s not true and they both know it.
“Yes.” It’s a gasp as his hand makes its way around the curve of her ass and under her panties, fingers flat against the flesh there. “Yes, Da...”
The word stops, choked in a bubble at her throat, she doesn’t know how to...
“Say it.” He growls against the nape of her neck. “Say it.”
“Yes. Yes, I trust you, Daddy.”
It’s his turn to groan as he slicks a finger down her pussy, opening it up and spreading moisture she’s almost surprised to be there. She bites her lip as he circles her clit, pushes his obviously straining and hard cock against the curve of her ass and she’s almost mortified to find herself pushing back.
A whimper builds in her throat and she swallows it, tries not to do or say anything that would disappoint him, because even if this shouldn’t be happening it is and she’s wet, wetter than she’s ever been and her hips push back even harder to find a better friction.
His fingers are long and knuckle deep inside her, pushing and pulling and searching for something and she would give it to him if she knew how.
“Please...” She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, but it comes out of her throat anyway, desperate and cracked. “Please, Daddy.”
He moans, a low deep sound that reverberates through her ribs.
“God, Claire.”
Then both her legs are pushed forward, knees up to her chest and her panties are gone and his fingers push further, harder, deeper as his cock brushes rhythmic patterns between her ass cheeks, bumping at her entrance with every stroke and she wants... she wants...
“More.”
And, fuck, he gives her that, too. Rolling her forward, he traps her arms underneath her chest and pushes her entire body flat belly down on the mattress, knees spreading her legs apart.
“Do you love me, Claire?”
“Yes.” She gasps it, face against the pillow, words muffled. “Yes.”
He pushes in, hard and she groans, body jerking as he pulls out and pushes in again. He surrounds her, larger body above her, arms circling her, legs trapping hers and all she can smell is him, woodsy warm smell of his aftershave lingering after an entire day, all she can feel is him and all she can hear is the groans and the pants and the slippery slick wet sounds of them.
Her body is stilled, unable to move, pinned under him, chest pushed crushing tight against the mattress, and the only part of her that has any semblance of movement is her hips. So that’s what she moves, thrusts them up, again and again, faster, meets him more than half way.
His mouth and his breath coat the back of her neck, her shoulders, hot wet saliva coating her skin, she can feel the molecules of her blood sucked to the surface, red marks that slide and disappear instantly.
Her knees come up, spread wide against her hips and she feels vaguely like a frog, but he picks up momentum and the thought flies out of her head as her blood pumps harder and her breath catches, hitches, and she feels the long, low moan sliding up her throat, out of her lips.
“Tell me.” It’s an order in her ear, panted and croaked. “Say the words.”
Her chin stretches up, face trying for air, for a clear path, and she pants into the coolness of it.
“I love you.” A moan breaks loud out of her unfettered throat as he twists his hips just that much deeper. “I love you, Daddy.”
She comes, burying her face back into the pillow, hands clenched tightly in his fists, and he follows not that long after, a few quick thrusts and the surge of his release inside her.
Her legs are sticky and slick when he slides out and she’s not sure what she expects, an awkwardness, a distance, regret, but he kisses the back of her shoulder gently and pulls his hands out from under her, leaves her free as he brushes her hair out of her eyes.
“Get some sleep, Claire-Bear, you’ve got school tomorrow.”
***
***
Claire giving HRG a long relaxing blowjob after he's had a rough day.
*~*~*~*
SCHOOL NIGHTS, part two
*~*~*~*
She wakes the next day expecting the awkwardness that hadn’t come the night before, but it’s not there. Her father smiles as he shakes her awake and directs her to the shower and then she finds French toast waiting for her downstairs when she’s finished. He wishes her a good day and kisses her forehead before he leaves, a gentle reminder that he’ll be home late and she needs to look after herself for dinner because her mother and Lyle are still somewhere off incommunicado after Sylar’s little effort.
Claire spends the entire day in a fugue, slightly embarrassed but mostly turned on by her memories of the night before. She exists on auto pilot until she can come home, ignore the vegetables in the fridge for pizza and then sit and think.
She’s not sure exactly what happened and she knows what she should be doing about it, but her body betrays her and she feels heated and flushed and itchy at the very thought of it.
He doesn’t get home until nearly midnight, but she’s been waiting up for him and she can hear his footsteps cross the floor to his study, can hear the weariness of the day in the soft shuffle of them, the sound of his briefcase hitting his desk, the deep creak of his chair and a deep sigh.
“Hey.” It’s soft and nervous and all her previous bravado fails her now that she’s actually peering around the doorframe at him, suddenly confronted with the truth of what they’d done. “Bad day?”
Noah massages his temple with his right hand for several seconds, then brings it down and looks up at her with a reassuring smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” And then his gaze becomes pointed. “What are you still doing up?”
She smiles, then, because this if nothing else is going the way she’d thought it would.
“Waiting for you.”
And when she steps into the room, she sees his eyes widen. The only other indication he gives is the slight slackening of his mouth, but that is enough for her to know that she’s done well. She quit cheerleading a long time ago, but she still has the uniform and the skirt swishes around the tops of her thighs as she steps closer.
The material whispers against her skin, newly sensitised from the waxing she’d given it earlier, and she squirms a little under his gaze.
“I thought I could help you relax.”
He uses his feet to slide his chair back without a word and she doesn’t waste time in stepping up to him, feeling the edge of the desk at her back. His knees are slightly spread and he reaches out to her, grabs her by the waist to pull her forward onto his lap, but she pushes him back.
Confusion lasts only a second before she kneels down.
His tongue flicks out to wet dry lips and she can see the tense hunger in his eyes.
“You did the same for me last night.”
The carpet is thick and soft on her knees and she places her hands just inside his knees, draws them forward and then back down again, fingertips feeling the tight, corded muscles of his thighs.
Maybe she’s nervous and maybe she hasn’t done this before, but she has to be doing something right if the way he clenches his fists tightly around the arm rests until his knuckles pop white against his skin is any indication.
She teases him carefully, a little bit, not too slowly, eventually her thumbs brush the rising lump in his crotch and he inhales. The button on his pants snaps open easily and she pulls down the fly, smiles as he lifts his hips to help her ease his pants down his legs.
His thighs are thick and hairy, whorls of hair in patterns that seem to coalesce up his boxer shorts and she slides her hand into the gap there, grasps the hot, silky cock that jumps in her hand. She watches his face, watches his jaw grind as her hand slides up once, twice, a gentle tugging motion before she frees it, pulls it into view.
“Yes.” It’s a muffled, restrained murmur. “God, Claire, yes.”
And she dips her head, flicks her tongue out and laps at the end of it, watches his face as he stares down at her. His eyes are so dark, sparkling at her through his glasses, that it seems almost as if his irises have disappeared, been eaten up by lust.
He’s hard and hot in her hand and he tastes salty on the very edge of her tongue. It’s a simple step to open her lips and surround the tip of his cock, suck it gently as he bites his lip. His hips are shaking, a slight tremor she feels in the elbows she’s resting on his thighs.
Her tongue slips around the trunk of it, laps at it like a cat, a pet, and he groans. She tugs gently again, slipping her lips off him to concentrate fully on licking stripes up and down, wetting the outside of him, coating him in her saliva.
She squirms again, fluid pooling warmly between her thighs.
His right hand lifts from the arm rest and then stops an inch or two from her head, she gets a brief glimpse of him holding her down and thrusting against her mouth and she groans her approval, hopes it’s enough to spur him on.
He doesn’t and so she opens her mouth and sucks him in hard.
The tip of his cock pushes against the back of her throat and she hums around it, his balls smell musky and his pubic hair tickles her nose and chin and she works it, wants it, wrestles her tongue against him in the small spaces left.
“Claire, oh jesus, Claire.” And it’s not just his hips now; it’s his whole body shaking. “Spread your knees.”
She does, automatically adjusting her stance, feeling herself open.
Almost instantly she understands his order as his legs shuffles against her and she feels him shuffling off his shoes, his foot sliding between her leg and his big toe separating the lips of her labia. She hums again, louder and deeper and vibrating against him as she begins to humps his foot.
He groans in obvious approval to find she’s not wearing underwear.
“Wider.” And his demands are getting harder and shorter and more clipped and they send shiver shocks of thrill up her spine. “Wider.”
She does, spreading her knees as far apart as they will go, feeling the delicious stretch of her thigh muscles groaning. It pushes her down further, sinks his toe inside her with a pop and it’s all she can do not to bite down.
Her head bobs, sucks on the slide out and licks on the way down, and her movements become desperate, needy, matching her sucking to the thrusting of her hips and her teeth graze his length as he finally, finally reaches out.
His fingers in her hair are gentle, but firm and she feels them on her skull like five heated pressure points. The instinct to resist makes her press her head up, but he’s quick and he holds her down and she opens her throat wider, wider, wanting to swallow him whole.
“Stop.” He pants it, voice hollowed out in lust and frustration. “Claire, stop.”
She does, pulling back with a pout until his fingers slide down the side of her face to cup her chin.
“Now turn around and press your face to the floor.”
Her body shakes with expectation as she turns her back to him, going down on all fours with her backside in the air, skirt sliding up in a bunch around her waist, and she slips her shoulders down, does exactly as he asks.
It doesn’t take long to feel his hands gripping her hips and she waits for the slide of his length inside her, needs it to be long and deep and fast.
She cries out, unable to stop the keening, when she feels his mouth instead, hot teeth and tongue eating her out, breath teasing against her sensitive flesh until she whines, a mewl of protest, of need, that stops only when he thrusts two fingers up her cunt.
Her hips buck, she can’t stop the keening as she feels her juices flood his face, feels him lick it up her thighs and slit and clit, feels his nose tickle her tiny, puckered little hole.
“I want...” The words stop, aborted, desperate to get out but unable as her body jerks at his hands. “I want...”
“Tell me, Claire-Bear.” He orders her clit. “Tell me.”
“You.” She gasps. “Now.”
And just like that he pushes up behind her and she feels him slide right in, hands pulling her hips back, his balls slapping at her overstimulated clit.
***
***
Claire wants to feel again after Sylar's attack so HRG initiates her into BSDM play
***
*~*~*~*
SCHOOL NIGHTS, part three
*~*~*~*
It started slowly, that first night in his bed and then the one after in his study, and there’s a progression that she knows is there if she wants to examine it, but she doesn’t. It’s an illogical leap down the rabbit hole to go from there to here and she really doesn’t have the time to puzzle it out.
Her shoulders stretch, pulled taut as her wrists are bound behind her, tightly secure in thick silver packing tape as her weight pushes them down.
“Claire.” His voice is in her ear and she thrills to it. “I’ve been shopping.”
She wants to see, every nerve in her body is screaming to look, but her eyes are closed tightly and she won’t open them without his say so. A soft murmur of approval rumbles up her throat, past her tongue and into the ball gag embedded firmly in her mouth.
They’ve long since dispensed with anything as banal as safety words.
A bubble of a scream, more surprise than anything resembling actual pain, bursts of her throat as harsh, tiny, pinprick clamps close down on her nipples. They’re weighted with chains and he yanks them before letting them dangle, the slight swing back and forth tugging at her, sending sparks of pleasure from her breasts right down between her legs.
He likes to make her cry.
It sounds awful, but there’s a purpose, an explanation that nobody else ever gets to hear. She needs it, needs it desperately, and he’s the only one she’s found that can give it to her.
Sylar left her blank and empty and hollow, a gutted out shell. She hadn’t told anyone but Peter about the train, but somehow her dad knew anyway. The words became jumbled in her head, but he understood the meaning of them.
She can no longer feel pain and humanity slips further from her grasp.
He can’t hurt her, she’s told him that time and time again, and yet he continuously shows her otherwise, finds ways to push her to and beyond her limits until her body shakes for hours afterwards, blood coursing strong and rapid through her veins, until she’s crying out in pleasure that’s so close to pain she can’t really tell the difference anymore.
A cold metal slips against her thigh, sliding up the skin and she shivers, spreads her knees wider as her ankles jostle the binds that already stretch her wide. Her hips lift off the wooden table and she hears his little exhalation of disappointment.
The metal disappears and his hand lands flat and firm on her belly, pushing her down again.
“I told you not to move.”
She needs it now, finds herself shaky and jittery and just plain awkward when the days stretch and they can’t find any time alone, when Sandra or Lyle or school or his job get in the way. He can read the signs though, she sees him watching her across the table, a slight promise in his eyes.
And sometimes, just for fun, he grounds her, chiding harshly in front of her mother and brother and she pouts and complains and then goes up to her room to lock the door and fingerfuck herself so roughly she feels like she’s bleeding.
But she never does.
Without warning the cool metal returns, a dildo shoved hard inside her cunt and she groans against the gag, pulses around it, muscles grabbing greedily, it’s long and thick and warming with each time he pulls it out and rams it back.
“Are you going to play nicely?”
She nods, quick movements, automatic reaction.
He gives orders too well and she barely even needed to be taught to follow them, it was a knee jerk reaction, an instinct: he says and she does. Even so, she has learned well the consequences of disobedience, real or imagined, and it heightens the game to imagine what he’ll do next.
A quick twist of her clit and she comes for him, a pavlovian response he’s cultivated well, juices flowing thick and copious over the dildo.
Her brain catches up with him seconds after the tip runs down her slit and towards her ass, she twists against her bonds, struggles in earnest and he shushes her, uses his free hand to stroke her hair.
It’s hard and brutal and her throat screams, the sound echoing in her ears as a sob seeps out around the gag.
“I’m going to leave it here.” He tells her with a firm little jiggle of the dildo. “And while it’s there, I’m going to fuck you senseless.”
She cries and he kisses her and for the moments, she’s free.
***
End.
Comments? Questions?
Death threats?
Title: School Nights.
Author: Jacqui, wily_one24
Pairing: Claire/Noah
Rating: NC17 (like woah)
Wordcount: 1,361/1,495/779
Warning: Um, sex, adoptive incest... probably underage. She's 17, no? BDSM.
Summary: Claire can’t sleep, because sleep does this and he’s there again, Sylar, slicing her skull open and tinkering with her brain like she’s a fucking clock.
***
After a bad dream, Claire sneaks into HRG's bed (no Sandra). What starts out as a comforting touch quickly turns into sex. (No noncon please - but dub-con is totally acceptable if you want to go that route)
***
*~*~*~*
SCHOOL NIGHTS, part one
*~*~*~*
Her throat constricts and her pulse bird beats around her body, she pulls the pillowcase through her teeth sideways to keep from crying out, but her body and her brain won’t be fooled. She can feel the sweat pooling in the small of her back, in her elbows, her breath escaping in harsh, ragged pants.
Claire can’t sleep, because sleep does this and he’s there again, Sylar, slicing her skull open and tinkering with her brain like she’s a fucking clock.
She doesn’t want to, can’t quite work up the nerve to put a name to it, because she’s so close to being a fucking adult and all her protests of the same will mean nothing, but she’s half way across her parents’ bedroom floor and there really isn’t any other name for it but climbing in with mommy and daddy to chase away the monsters.
Then she stops, frozen, because as the figure in the bed stirs and murmurs, she remembers that Sandra isn’t even there, but as eyelids pop open and blink at her, she can’t quite bring it in herself to back away. She figures a half hearted tearful rejection will bring on too many questions and it’s not really a conversation she wants.
So she climbs in anyway and he’s way too perceptive not to notice the hitches in her breathing and the shudders that still tremble through her body.
“Claire.” He sighs, voice thick with sleep and threaded with anger that’s not aimed at her. “I won’t let him come back.”
“Please.” She whispers, thankful for the dark, for the anonymity of it. “Let me stay.”
He does, settling back down, shuffling to make room for her, letting hid hand rest on her shoulder, a comforting weight she’s known for ever. It’s dark and she’s tired and the bed is as always her parents’ bed, warm and snugly and safe, and she sighs almost calm as she sinks closer to him.
He’s behind her and his arm comes underneath her neck to wrap fully around her shoulder and she thinks nothing of it, grateful for the comfort, his other hand slides onto her hip and maybe she blinks a little at that.
“Sh.” He whispers, voice puffing warm air on the back of her neck, soothing but too close. “I’m here.”
And maybe he’s not quite awake, she thinks, stuck in some blurry middle land of responding to her, but not realizing she’s not her mother, because the hand on her hip strokes gentle circles and he moves even closer.
“Dad...”
It’s a soft reminder. An escape clause, her own brain trying to explain the situation.
“Relax, Claire.”
The arm wrapped around her shoulders tightens, pulls her closer to him and she feels him hard at her back, pushing in against her ass, and then she feels fingers sliding up the outside of her thigh, pushing at the hem of the shirt she’d worn to bed.
She stiffens, tightens, grasps at the arm against her neck.
“What are you doing?”
He kisses her then, hot open mouth at the back of her shoulder, sliding up her neck, suckling at the tendons there, and he hasn’t shaved since earlier that morning, bristles scraping roughly against her skin.
“Making you feel better.”
“But...”
His trapped arm slides lower, hand slipping under the neck of her shirt and finding her breasts. She gasps at the sudden feel of it, body jerking, and it puts her in closer contact with his form, she feels his chest at her back and his legs scoop in under hers.
“It’s okay.” The hand on her thigh tightens, pulls her leg backwards, and she’s stretched taut and open. “You need to trust me. Do you trust me, Claire?”
She wants to say no, feels like she should say no as he begins a slow grind against her, both of their bodies pushing and pulling back and forth. But she can’t, can’t actually say it, because it’s not true and they both know it.
“Yes.” It’s a gasp as his hand makes its way around the curve of her ass and under her panties, fingers flat against the flesh there. “Yes, Da...”
The word stops, choked in a bubble at her throat, she doesn’t know how to...
“Say it.” He growls against the nape of her neck. “Say it.”
“Yes. Yes, I trust you, Daddy.”
It’s his turn to groan as he slicks a finger down her pussy, opening it up and spreading moisture she’s almost surprised to be there. She bites her lip as he circles her clit, pushes his obviously straining and hard cock against the curve of her ass and she’s almost mortified to find herself pushing back.
A whimper builds in her throat and she swallows it, tries not to do or say anything that would disappoint him, because even if this shouldn’t be happening it is and she’s wet, wetter than she’s ever been and her hips push back even harder to find a better friction.
His fingers are long and knuckle deep inside her, pushing and pulling and searching for something and she would give it to him if she knew how.
“Please...” She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, but it comes out of her throat anyway, desperate and cracked. “Please, Daddy.”
He moans, a low deep sound that reverberates through her ribs.
“God, Claire.”
Then both her legs are pushed forward, knees up to her chest and her panties are gone and his fingers push further, harder, deeper as his cock brushes rhythmic patterns between her ass cheeks, bumping at her entrance with every stroke and she wants... she wants...
“More.”
And, fuck, he gives her that, too. Rolling her forward, he traps her arms underneath her chest and pushes her entire body flat belly down on the mattress, knees spreading her legs apart.
“Do you love me, Claire?”
“Yes.” She gasps it, face against the pillow, words muffled. “Yes.”
He pushes in, hard and she groans, body jerking as he pulls out and pushes in again. He surrounds her, larger body above her, arms circling her, legs trapping hers and all she can smell is him, woodsy warm smell of his aftershave lingering after an entire day, all she can feel is him and all she can hear is the groans and the pants and the slippery slick wet sounds of them.
Her body is stilled, unable to move, pinned under him, chest pushed crushing tight against the mattress, and the only part of her that has any semblance of movement is her hips. So that’s what she moves, thrusts them up, again and again, faster, meets him more than half way.
His mouth and his breath coat the back of her neck, her shoulders, hot wet saliva coating her skin, she can feel the molecules of her blood sucked to the surface, red marks that slide and disappear instantly.
Her knees come up, spread wide against her hips and she feels vaguely like a frog, but he picks up momentum and the thought flies out of her head as her blood pumps harder and her breath catches, hitches, and she feels the long, low moan sliding up her throat, out of her lips.
“Tell me.” It’s an order in her ear, panted and croaked. “Say the words.”
Her chin stretches up, face trying for air, for a clear path, and she pants into the coolness of it.
“I love you.” A moan breaks loud out of her unfettered throat as he twists his hips just that much deeper. “I love you, Daddy.”
She comes, burying her face back into the pillow, hands clenched tightly in his fists, and he follows not that long after, a few quick thrusts and the surge of his release inside her.
Her legs are sticky and slick when he slides out and she’s not sure what she expects, an awkwardness, a distance, regret, but he kisses the back of her shoulder gently and pulls his hands out from under her, leaves her free as he brushes her hair out of her eyes.
“Get some sleep, Claire-Bear, you’ve got school tomorrow.”
***
***
Claire giving HRG a long relaxing blowjob after he's had a rough day.
*~*~*~*
SCHOOL NIGHTS, part two
*~*~*~*
She wakes the next day expecting the awkwardness that hadn’t come the night before, but it’s not there. Her father smiles as he shakes her awake and directs her to the shower and then she finds French toast waiting for her downstairs when she’s finished. He wishes her a good day and kisses her forehead before he leaves, a gentle reminder that he’ll be home late and she needs to look after herself for dinner because her mother and Lyle are still somewhere off incommunicado after Sylar’s little effort.
Claire spends the entire day in a fugue, slightly embarrassed but mostly turned on by her memories of the night before. She exists on auto pilot until she can come home, ignore the vegetables in the fridge for pizza and then sit and think.
She’s not sure exactly what happened and she knows what she should be doing about it, but her body betrays her and she feels heated and flushed and itchy at the very thought of it.
He doesn’t get home until nearly midnight, but she’s been waiting up for him and she can hear his footsteps cross the floor to his study, can hear the weariness of the day in the soft shuffle of them, the sound of his briefcase hitting his desk, the deep creak of his chair and a deep sigh.
“Hey.” It’s soft and nervous and all her previous bravado fails her now that she’s actually peering around the doorframe at him, suddenly confronted with the truth of what they’d done. “Bad day?”
Noah massages his temple with his right hand for several seconds, then brings it down and looks up at her with a reassuring smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” And then his gaze becomes pointed. “What are you still doing up?”
She smiles, then, because this if nothing else is going the way she’d thought it would.
“Waiting for you.”
And when she steps into the room, she sees his eyes widen. The only other indication he gives is the slight slackening of his mouth, but that is enough for her to know that she’s done well. She quit cheerleading a long time ago, but she still has the uniform and the skirt swishes around the tops of her thighs as she steps closer.
The material whispers against her skin, newly sensitised from the waxing she’d given it earlier, and she squirms a little under his gaze.
“I thought I could help you relax.”
He uses his feet to slide his chair back without a word and she doesn’t waste time in stepping up to him, feeling the edge of the desk at her back. His knees are slightly spread and he reaches out to her, grabs her by the waist to pull her forward onto his lap, but she pushes him back.
Confusion lasts only a second before she kneels down.
His tongue flicks out to wet dry lips and she can see the tense hunger in his eyes.
“You did the same for me last night.”
The carpet is thick and soft on her knees and she places her hands just inside his knees, draws them forward and then back down again, fingertips feeling the tight, corded muscles of his thighs.
Maybe she’s nervous and maybe she hasn’t done this before, but she has to be doing something right if the way he clenches his fists tightly around the arm rests until his knuckles pop white against his skin is any indication.
She teases him carefully, a little bit, not too slowly, eventually her thumbs brush the rising lump in his crotch and he inhales. The button on his pants snaps open easily and she pulls down the fly, smiles as he lifts his hips to help her ease his pants down his legs.
His thighs are thick and hairy, whorls of hair in patterns that seem to coalesce up his boxer shorts and she slides her hand into the gap there, grasps the hot, silky cock that jumps in her hand. She watches his face, watches his jaw grind as her hand slides up once, twice, a gentle tugging motion before she frees it, pulls it into view.
“Yes.” It’s a muffled, restrained murmur. “God, Claire, yes.”
And she dips her head, flicks her tongue out and laps at the end of it, watches his face as he stares down at her. His eyes are so dark, sparkling at her through his glasses, that it seems almost as if his irises have disappeared, been eaten up by lust.
He’s hard and hot in her hand and he tastes salty on the very edge of her tongue. It’s a simple step to open her lips and surround the tip of his cock, suck it gently as he bites his lip. His hips are shaking, a slight tremor she feels in the elbows she’s resting on his thighs.
Her tongue slips around the trunk of it, laps at it like a cat, a pet, and he groans. She tugs gently again, slipping her lips off him to concentrate fully on licking stripes up and down, wetting the outside of him, coating him in her saliva.
She squirms again, fluid pooling warmly between her thighs.
His right hand lifts from the arm rest and then stops an inch or two from her head, she gets a brief glimpse of him holding her down and thrusting against her mouth and she groans her approval, hopes it’s enough to spur him on.
He doesn’t and so she opens her mouth and sucks him in hard.
The tip of his cock pushes against the back of her throat and she hums around it, his balls smell musky and his pubic hair tickles her nose and chin and she works it, wants it, wrestles her tongue against him in the small spaces left.
“Claire, oh jesus, Claire.” And it’s not just his hips now; it’s his whole body shaking. “Spread your knees.”
She does, automatically adjusting her stance, feeling herself open.
Almost instantly she understands his order as his legs shuffles against her and she feels him shuffling off his shoes, his foot sliding between her leg and his big toe separating the lips of her labia. She hums again, louder and deeper and vibrating against him as she begins to humps his foot.
He groans in obvious approval to find she’s not wearing underwear.
“Wider.” And his demands are getting harder and shorter and more clipped and they send shiver shocks of thrill up her spine. “Wider.”
She does, spreading her knees as far apart as they will go, feeling the delicious stretch of her thigh muscles groaning. It pushes her down further, sinks his toe inside her with a pop and it’s all she can do not to bite down.
Her head bobs, sucks on the slide out and licks on the way down, and her movements become desperate, needy, matching her sucking to the thrusting of her hips and her teeth graze his length as he finally, finally reaches out.
His fingers in her hair are gentle, but firm and she feels them on her skull like five heated pressure points. The instinct to resist makes her press her head up, but he’s quick and he holds her down and she opens her throat wider, wider, wanting to swallow him whole.
“Stop.” He pants it, voice hollowed out in lust and frustration. “Claire, stop.”
She does, pulling back with a pout until his fingers slide down the side of her face to cup her chin.
“Now turn around and press your face to the floor.”
Her body shakes with expectation as she turns her back to him, going down on all fours with her backside in the air, skirt sliding up in a bunch around her waist, and she slips her shoulders down, does exactly as he asks.
It doesn’t take long to feel his hands gripping her hips and she waits for the slide of his length inside her, needs it to be long and deep and fast.
She cries out, unable to stop the keening, when she feels his mouth instead, hot teeth and tongue eating her out, breath teasing against her sensitive flesh until she whines, a mewl of protest, of need, that stops only when he thrusts two fingers up her cunt.
Her hips buck, she can’t stop the keening as she feels her juices flood his face, feels him lick it up her thighs and slit and clit, feels his nose tickle her tiny, puckered little hole.
“I want...” The words stop, aborted, desperate to get out but unable as her body jerks at his hands. “I want...”
“Tell me, Claire-Bear.” He orders her clit. “Tell me.”
“You.” She gasps. “Now.”
And just like that he pushes up behind her and she feels him slide right in, hands pulling her hips back, his balls slapping at her overstimulated clit.
***
***
Claire wants to feel again after Sylar's attack so HRG initiates her into BSDM play
***
*~*~*~*
SCHOOL NIGHTS, part three
*~*~*~*
It started slowly, that first night in his bed and then the one after in his study, and there’s a progression that she knows is there if she wants to examine it, but she doesn’t. It’s an illogical leap down the rabbit hole to go from there to here and she really doesn’t have the time to puzzle it out.
Her shoulders stretch, pulled taut as her wrists are bound behind her, tightly secure in thick silver packing tape as her weight pushes them down.
“Claire.” His voice is in her ear and she thrills to it. “I’ve been shopping.”
She wants to see, every nerve in her body is screaming to look, but her eyes are closed tightly and she won’t open them without his say so. A soft murmur of approval rumbles up her throat, past her tongue and into the ball gag embedded firmly in her mouth.
They’ve long since dispensed with anything as banal as safety words.
A bubble of a scream, more surprise than anything resembling actual pain, bursts of her throat as harsh, tiny, pinprick clamps close down on her nipples. They’re weighted with chains and he yanks them before letting them dangle, the slight swing back and forth tugging at her, sending sparks of pleasure from her breasts right down between her legs.
He likes to make her cry.
It sounds awful, but there’s a purpose, an explanation that nobody else ever gets to hear. She needs it, needs it desperately, and he’s the only one she’s found that can give it to her.
Sylar left her blank and empty and hollow, a gutted out shell. She hadn’t told anyone but Peter about the train, but somehow her dad knew anyway. The words became jumbled in her head, but he understood the meaning of them.
She can no longer feel pain and humanity slips further from her grasp.
He can’t hurt her, she’s told him that time and time again, and yet he continuously shows her otherwise, finds ways to push her to and beyond her limits until her body shakes for hours afterwards, blood coursing strong and rapid through her veins, until she’s crying out in pleasure that’s so close to pain she can’t really tell the difference anymore.
A cold metal slips against her thigh, sliding up the skin and she shivers, spreads her knees wider as her ankles jostle the binds that already stretch her wide. Her hips lift off the wooden table and she hears his little exhalation of disappointment.
The metal disappears and his hand lands flat and firm on her belly, pushing her down again.
“I told you not to move.”
She needs it now, finds herself shaky and jittery and just plain awkward when the days stretch and they can’t find any time alone, when Sandra or Lyle or school or his job get in the way. He can read the signs though, she sees him watching her across the table, a slight promise in his eyes.
And sometimes, just for fun, he grounds her, chiding harshly in front of her mother and brother and she pouts and complains and then goes up to her room to lock the door and fingerfuck herself so roughly she feels like she’s bleeding.
But she never does.
Without warning the cool metal returns, a dildo shoved hard inside her cunt and she groans against the gag, pulses around it, muscles grabbing greedily, it’s long and thick and warming with each time he pulls it out and rams it back.
“Are you going to play nicely?”
She nods, quick movements, automatic reaction.
He gives orders too well and she barely even needed to be taught to follow them, it was a knee jerk reaction, an instinct: he says and she does. Even so, she has learned well the consequences of disobedience, real or imagined, and it heightens the game to imagine what he’ll do next.
A quick twist of her clit and she comes for him, a pavlovian response he’s cultivated well, juices flowing thick and copious over the dildo.
Her brain catches up with him seconds after the tip runs down her slit and towards her ass, she twists against her bonds, struggles in earnest and he shushes her, uses his free hand to stroke her hair.
It’s hard and brutal and her throat screams, the sound echoing in her ears as a sob seeps out around the gag.
“I’m going to leave it here.” He tells her with a firm little jiggle of the dildo. “And while it’s there, I’m going to fuck you senseless.”
She cries and he kisses her and for the moments, she’s free.
***
End.
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