[heroes] meet me in the dark
Title: meet me in the dark
Author: lizzyrebel
Rating: R
Prompt: secret santa for dragynflies at sylarelle
Character/Pairing: Sylar and Elle
Spoilers/Warnings: language, sex, dark themes, and voilence
Author's Notes: AU from 1x09. I tried to combine the three prompts that dragynflies gave me. It was nice to write smut again. ^_^ Hope you like it dragynflies. Ignore the fact that the title is a Melissa Etheridge song.
They tracked him down to New Jersey.
Elle figured Sylar was probably seething and after that botched attempt to do any real damage to Mr. Bennet, he was going back to what he was good at. Maria Vernez, immune to all forms of sickness, was a step closer to immortality, and in Elle’s mind that was something all big, bad villains craved.
She’d begged her daddy pretty please and he’d pulled some strings and favors with Mr. Lindermen. The old man didn’t like her very much, didn’t like how she’d zap people when she was bored or how she’d let her body spark with blue when she was really, really happy, but that was fine with Elle. She didn’t like Mr. Lindermen either, since everyone knew that her brain was a little off kilter and he never once offered to fix it for her.
But her daddy loved her, and he knew that it was important to Elle, and she’d gotten orders to meet up with Mr. Bennet and Eden as they crossed over at JFK.
Mr. Bennet was not happy about it, said nasty things to her daddy on the phone about how Elle was unpredictable and uncontrollable. Mean, old Bennet just wanted to kill Sylar all by himself, because he’d tracked him all the way to Texas and gone after his pretty little cheerleader daughter. Elle didn’t know why Sylar wanted little Claire-bear in the first place, since she hadn’t even shown a power yet, but there was also the possibility that he was just after Bennet for revenge.
Too bad for Bennet, Elle was the one with all of Sylar’s activities and current location, and she wasn’t handing over anything until they landed.
Secretly, Elle hated flying. Hating being up so high and knowing that one misguided spark and everything would come crashing down, cradle and all, but she didn’t say anything as she sat between Eden and Bennet. Eden was flipping through a Cosmo magazine that she promised to let Elle see when she was done, and Bennet was dividing his time between glowering out the window and glowering at Elle.
“You don’t have to be so mean,” Elle muttered unhappily. She tried to look at Eden for support, but the dark-haired woman was finding the Brad Pitt article very interesting.
“You screw this up and I’ll take you down myself,” Bennet snapped at her, and Elle wondered if he really could. Kill her. She sort of idealized him-the ideal company man-and felt queasy knowing that he could, and would.
Elle stuck her tongue out at him, and just to be mean, put a little spark on it.
-
She lost them in the Newark Airport. That’d show stupid Noah Bennet who he could and could not boss around, and who was the child. His precious cheerleader might be young and stupid enough to obey his orders, but Elle was a full grown woman.
But she wasn’t a complete bitch about it. Before she had ditched Eden in the bathroom, she had given them the address of the bar that Vernez worked at, slipped the files into Eden’s purse when she wasn’t looking. Usually, it was easy enough for Elle to remember that she had a huge crush on Bennet, and that Eden was one of the only girls who was sort of nice to her.
The bar Vernez worked out was in the bad part of Newark, not that the city had any good parts. It was a hike from the airport, and Elle didn’t have enough money to cover it so she had to zap the taxi driver when he started complaining. Not enough to kill him, of course, but enough to let Elle slip out without having to pay.
It was called Stainless, the bar that Vernez worked at, and it was little more than a strip club. Elle had never been in one before, and she was fascinated by the neon green and blue lights that illuminated the smoky bar, guys hunched over their drinks and girls in short mini-skirts bustling to and fro, dodging fellow workers in a practiced dance, grinning flirtatiously at grabbing hands, slapping the ones that got too confident. A big bouncer of a man crossed his arms at the low doorway, kind of reminding Elle of Bennet with the way he glowered.
She got carded by the bouncer, but she didn’t mind since she found him really charming, well over six feet tall, big as a house, black as night, with a deep, raspy voice. Elle just liked him.
“Hey,” she said, putting on her best coy grin. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Sweetheart, ain’t no in here worth your time,” the bouncer said and made Elle’s heart soar. “Best you found yourself a nice normal guy out there.”
In reality, the closest she’d ever come to ‘finding herself a guy’ was letting stupid Adam Monroe put his hand down her pants a couple of months ago. She hadn’t liked the feeling, not one bit, and had zapped the living daylights out of Adam for it. Neither of them had walked away from that incident happily.
“He sort of owes me child support,” Elle admitted. “I want to tell him that I’m filing a suit with his attorney.”
The bouncer shook his head. “What’s he look like?”
“Ah, tall. Dark-haired. Dark eyes. Kind of awkward, and a little creepy.” And he’s a serial killer. But Elle didn’t imagine that would go over well.
“We’ve gotten a guy like that hanging around here for the last couple of days, been chatting it up with Maria over there.”
“Thanks.” Her smile was bright.
“He gives you any trouble, sweetheart, you let me know and I’ll set him straight.”
Elle didn’t imagine that the big bouncer would be good in a fight against Sylar, but she definitely appreciated the sentiment and smiled widely at him, all but skipping across the dingy bar to an empty booth in the far corner.
She was getting a few stares, but she didn’t mind. She’d dressed for the occasion, in a tight, grey pencil-skirt and a stretchy, red short-sleeved top, complete with six-inch black high heels, the strappy kind that she just loved. What had Adam called them? Oh yes. Fuck me heels.
As she sat she pulled out a black and white stripped bucket hat and her Jackie O sunglass from her big, red purse. She got a few more strange looks, but she didn’t want her blonde hair giving her away to Sylar. Because of how royally Bennet messed up capturing him, he was probably on the look out for more Company workers, and he definitely knew her.
The thought made her frown a little bit, and she sunk lower into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest.
It was easy to find Maria Vernez in the slew of waitresses working the bar. She was the tallest woman there, with long, long legs that looked even longer in the mini-skirt she was wearing, with high, rounded breasts that strained against her skin-tight white shirt. She was pretty, with deep Italian eyes and rich, dark hair. She was one of the prettiest girls Elle had ever seen.
Elle decided to hate her on principal.
For a good two hours Elle watched Maria Vernez serve, flirt, and coax her patrons. Elle ordered herself a coke, wishing she could get a Shady Lady tequila or her favored Absinthe Martini. But since she planned to have Sylar tagged and bagged before she went home tonight, she needed to be sober.
And there he was.
Mr. Gabriel “Serial Killer Sylar” Gray himself. Elle leaned across her table, watching as he strode into the room, wearing dusty jeans, a black man-tailored shirt and a long trench coat. He picked Vernez out of the crowd right away, zeroing in on her with a smile as he strode across the bar to meet her, like she was the only thing in the whole wide world to him.
With a frown, Elle drummed her fingers against the cheap wood of her table. She’d met Gabriel Gray before, but he’d been a different guy then, and she wasn’t sure if she wished she had met this Gabriel Gray-suave and dashing, with a hint of danger shimmering just below the surface-or kept the one she had meet more than six months ago-awkward, clumsy, but endearing and intense beneath the glasses.
Either way, she definitely did not like the way Vernez was apparently lapping up the attention Sylar was bestowing on her. She considered zapping Vernez to make herself feel better, but couldn’t because it would give away her position.
Stupid Sylar. Why was he even flirting with Vernez anyway? Sure she was gorgeous, but he was just going to kill her and take off her skullcap, so why even bother with the pretty boy smiles and flashing dark eyes?
Elle hadn’t gotten that, but maybe she had gotten something a little better. She’d made her own special boy to love. Patched him up with tape and glue, and had been on the verge of something really, really amazing. And then she’d ruined it. Ruined him, and now here he was flirting with a tall, big-breasted waitress who couldn’t get sick.
Great. Elle was sad now.
Vernez flounced off from Sylar with a smile, disappearing behind the bar. In her wake, Sylar fidgeted nervously, eyeing the bouncer then skimming the bar-Elle ducked low in her seat-and then plastered on a big, bright smile as Vernez reappeared at his side, hand on his arm, wearing a coat over her uniform. Arm in arm, laughing into each other’s faces, they left the bar, passed the bouncer who sent Sylar a strange look, and out into the chilly New Jersey air.
Scowling, Elle wondered how much trouble she would be in for letting Sylar kill Vernez before incapacitating him. She could always just lie and say she was late.
But no. Elle sighed and picked herself up from the table, yanking off her hat and sunglasses, leaving her purse behind-not like there was anything important in there anyway. She was trying to be a good person. Her daddy always said that the Company was made up of heroes, and Elle desperately wanted to be one of them.
Dunking her head so she didn’t have to meet the bouncer’s eye, she climbed up the stairs to the exit, and stepped out into the late afternoon day. The air was bitterly cold, and Elle wished she had thought to bring a jacket. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself and all but ran around the corner of the bar, into the alleyway.
Yup. She was right. Sylar had Vernez pinned against the brick wall, her eyes wide and horrified, her legs dangling off the ground. Sylar had one hand around her throat, holding her up with his telekinesis and his own psychical strength, his whole body tensed and poised for his murder.
For a moment Elle hesitated, again wondering what the harm would be if she let Sylar kill Maria Vernez.
Almost as if acting on their own, her hands lifted and a wide, powerful burst of electricity jumped from them, hitting Sylar hard in the side, sending him sprawling into the hard pavement of the alley. Vernez hit the ground with a loud thud, her hand shooting up to her forehead-touching the thin line of blood blooming along her skull-and gasped in hard, wild breaths that made her sound like a dying fish.
Elle approached Vernez as she scrambled to her feet. The woman was half a foot taller than Elle, but she still managed to look down her nose at Vernez and inclined her head in the direction of the exit to the alleyway.
“Scat cat,” she muttered.
Vernez didn’t need to be told twice, she was gone.
Carefully, Elle approached Sylar. She cupped a ball of electricity in her hand, the power snapped just above her fingertips, humming with static. Sylar lay limp and still on the ground, not moving. She hadn’t pumped him with enough electricity to kill him, though maybe she’d be doing the world a favor if she did.
But just as she reached his feet, Sylar’s eyes snapped open. She yelped, momentarily forgetting she was supposed to be a hard-edged Company girl, and jumped back.
A force shoved her, hard, and her back cracked against the brick. Sylar climbed to his feet, his jacket singed, his eyes glazed with pain, and his whole body tensed with rage.
“You,” he hissed as his eyes cleared and Elle felt the pressure on her chest tighten.
She threw her hands out against the force, lightning crackling at her finger tips, and Sylar lifted a hand sharply, quickly. Hers were pinned above her head and she tugged at them, ineffectually.
“Elle. Elle Bishop.” He drew her name out like something foul on his tongue, stalking closer. The pressure was so tight on her chest she thought her sternum would be crushed.
Without an answering, Elle tugged against her restraints. Her feet dangled above the ground, her heels would have fallen off her tiny feet if it were for the straps around her ankles. Electricity sizzled and popped against her skin, unable to find the outsource it wanted. She looked at anything but him, stalking closer to her, boots slapping against the chilly pavement.
“What are you doing here, Elle?” When she refused to answer, refused to look at him, she felt a hand on her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. His eyes were black, deep pools of ink, and she pressed her lips in a hard line. “You work with him, don’t you? Bennet. You’re like him.”
No. She wasn’t like Bennet at all. Bennet thought shooting electricity out of your hands, or turning invisible, or having dreams of the future was weird. Thought that it was wrong, and that people who were different than him, born different than him, weren’t people at all. They were science experiments, fish in an aquarium. Tap the glass.
Sylar wouldn’t understand that, though.
“Did you come here to kill me?” he asked quietly, his face oh-so close to hers, and she remembered how she’d used to like the idea of kissing him, pressing her mouth against his, seeing what he would do. Would he blush and fumble or take and control? She’d been so curious, about everything about him.
Weakly, she nodded. Bennet wanted him dead, and her orders were that if she couldn’t take him in alive, she shouldn’t hesitate to take him in dead.
“Why didn’t you let me kill myself before, then?” he demanded hotly, and Elle felt her throat close, like a hand was being pressed against it. “Why did you save me?”
“You didn’t deserve to die,” she answered, truthfully. Gabriel Grey had been a confused, innocent young man who had been pushed and strained and pull by his glory-seeking mother. His self-esteem, and sense of self-worth had been tarnished and damaged thanks to her. He’d been willing to do anything to earn the love he felt he didn’t deserve, to convince himself he deserved it.
“And I do now.”
She nodded. Sylar was a serial kill, a man who hunted the country, slaughtering innocent people who were just like Elle, born differently from everyone else, made an outcast because of their birth. Sylar had killed them, had enjoyed it, had left their corpses for the vultures to feed on.
Yes. He deserved to die.
“And you, Elle?” The constriction of her throat tightened until she gave a gasp of pain. “How about you, Elle? You made me this way, didn’t you? Saved me to let me turn into a monster. Do you deserve to die?”
Honestly, Elle didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t like remembering the pain she’d inflicted on people over the years-some intentionally, some accidently. She didn’t remember a lot of that fire at her grandmother’s house, but remembered how the old woman had coughed and gagged on the smoke from her outburst, remembered that she’d died from it later.
Remembered how she patched a puzzle of a boy back together, and then ripped his apart. Let him believe that he could be more than a hungry beast prowling the cage of his skin, and then shown him the truth. He couldn’t.
But she nodded. One sharp, quick nod.
Intrigued now, Sylar leaned in even closer, his chest pressing against hers, his body heat nearly melting her. Elle jerked her face away the moment the invisible bond on her throat loosened. His breath was warm and moist on her neck.
“Look at me,” he snapped, and she did for whatever reason. She didn’t know what game he was playing, and she didn’t want him to play it. She wanted him to kill her and get it over with. She didn’t want him to mess around with her like he had messed around with Maria Vernez. She wanted to be different, different to him.
“I hate you,” he growled at her, this time the hand around her throat real and big. “You were such a good liar, Elle. Saving me from myself, letting me believe there was a chance. I hate you.”
She knew he did. How could he not hate her? But she didn’t hate him, not even with all the murders he had under his belt, all the people he’d hurt. She didn’t hate him. Couldn’t hate something she’d created.
Should she apologize? Say she was sorry over and over again? All she can do was turn her head and look into his eyes, watched as they blazed like hot coal in his handsome face, his fatally handsome face.
A whimper escaped her. But not one of terror, or fear. Just a whimper, an acknowledgement of their past.
Something in Sylar’s face shifted, twisted, morphed. She watched it in fascination, her mouth falling open to say something. But no sound came out, just a little choking noise. There was no pressure on her throat, save his hand, which had loosened. But it felt like all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe.
He leaned in closer then, and Elle would have never pegged him for the buff sort, but he was. She could feel the ridges of his muscles as he pressed himself against her chest, his eyes boring into hers.
“No,” she said, knowing.
But he was already pressing his mouth against hers, grinding his lips down. She yelped in pain, electricity sparking along her lips. Sylar groaned at the sensation, pressing harder into her, and she struggled against, her whole body sparking ineffectual blue. She tried to force a burst out of her, enough to knock him back, loosen his telekinetic hold on her, but she couldn’t, couldn’t find the power to dig up and force out.
She didn’t want to be taken like this. Elle had grown up on smuggled romance novels that she’d read under her covers with a flashlight. She had dreamt of steamy kisses in the shower, in the dark, about fireworks. That was why she had zapped Adam Monroe to kingdom come. He hadn’t given her fireworks, just a crude hand down her pants, tugging at the waistline of her panties.
“Yes,” Sylar said, against her mouth, his teeth napping at bottom lip. “I used to dream about… but then you were just a little liar, and now I’m a monster. So I’m just going to take.”
She shook her head, clamping her mouth shut. Sylar kissed along her jaw and Elle whimpered. She felt his hand ran across her stomach, bunching the stretchy material of her shirt. She was pinned, stretched, helpless pressed against him.
There was a tearing sound, and Elle’s shirt ripped away from her body. Cold air hit her chest and she shivered, gasping and choking. Sylar’s tongue traced her vulnerable collarbone, his hands running up and down her chest, teasing the underside of her breasts.
Her bra was pretty and pink, a pushup demi-bra edged with sheer black lace. It was her absolute favorite bra and wearing it and her matching thong made her feel womanly and sexy. She didn’t even have to worry about her daddy catching her wearing it, since she was allowed to go shopping herself.
It had a little snap in the front, where it scooped low between her breasts. Sylar slipped a hand between her skin and the bra, pulling the snap forward until it parted under the strain. She trembled as his hand cupped her breast, gently kneading it. His eyes were dark, furious, watching her reactions.
Oh no, Elle thought, feeling something bloom in her chest. Something that was not disgust, something that was not terror. Something else entirely.
Once upon a time, Elle had thought about the possibility of giving her virginity to a shy watchmaker living in Queens, dreamt of hot nights underneath him and above him. But she never, ever once dreamt of Sylar anywhere near her.
Her reality slammed back into her when she felt his warm mouth cover her breast, his teeth scrapping against her puckered nipple. She gasped, her chest expanding hugely, and stars burst in her eyes.
His hands pressed against her sides, her thighs. The invisible bonds across her legs loosened as his fingers traced the long line of her legs. He grabbed her pencil skirt, yanking it up to her wrist. She whimpered against him, her legs shaking.
The very tips, just the tips, of his fingers touched the little bow on the front of her thong. It felt like she was being electrocuted. “Oh, Elle,” he sighed.
“Sylar-” she began. Something was settling deep in her stomach, hot and liquid. It felt almost like fire, and made her want to crawl out of her skin. Maybe crawl into his.
He slammed his mouth back against her, grinding his pelvis against hers. Elle felt his erection, felt him struggling with his jeans, and squeezed her eyes shut. His free hand was cupping her breast, stoking and kneading them in a way that made her want to melt.
No. No. No. She thought. It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
A growl rumbled in his throat, deep and predatory, and she shivered wildly as he pushed aside the last barrier between them-her thin, sheer panties.
There was no warning given. Elle figured that Sylar was just doing this to punish her, knew that she would have preferred him to slice open her brain and pick at that, rather than this. He knew, and that was why he didn’t.
Instead, he spread her legs and slammed into her. Elle gasped as pain ripped through her. He was too heavy, too big, between her legs, and she felt impaled, stretched, strained. She didn’t scream, but sobbed softly, feeling a tear roll down her eye and spark on her skin as her body attempted to adjust to the pain of Sylar locked within her.
Against her, Sylar had stilled. His hands were tight on her legs, keeping her spread and opened for him.
“This is a surprise,” he managed, his voice strained and tight. “I knew you were playing at it-but I never imagined…”
He shifted. Not to a gentle motion, but a different one. Like his proprieties, his goals, had changed.
A gasp escaped her lips, but it was different this time. The pain was still there, like a hard throbbing at the base of her back, but it was dulling and something else was taking its place. Something white and hot and burning.
Her hands were still pinned above her head, and she still couldn’t move them, but her legs were free. She lifted them and wrapped them around his narrow waist, digging her heels into the small of his back, pressing his length deeper inside of her.
Yes. There. There was the spark. The fireworks. The pain throbbed, but was quickly overridden by a jolt of pleasure that shook her right down to her core.
“Please,” she whispered, brokenly.
Sylar groaned, and his one hand ran up her body, to her hand pinned above her head, his fingers twining with hers. His hips jerked against hers, stroking the insides of her, and Elle moaned, her head falling backwards. It would have hit the brick wall, hard, if Sylar hadn’t cupped the back of her head with his other hand to cushion her.
With a soft, controlled grunt, Sylar’s hips began to pump, in and out. She was helpless, riding the waves of pleasure that swarmed through her. She still couldn’t move her wrists, but she kept her legs locked around his hips, lifting her own to eagerly meeting his thrusts.
Her vision of the world blurred, and all she could see was colors. Bright colors, red and greens and blues. Someone was sobbing-not sad tears, just crying-but Elle was too caught up the sensations to pay attention. She was aware of Sylar shoving up her legs, bending them at the knees and pressing them up and back against her chest, so he could stroke her deeper, harder, until it felt like they were just one person. She couldn’t make out his face, and replaced it with her memory of Gabriel Gray’s, shy and pretty, with glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose.
Something sharp and hot worked through her. Elle screamed, felt her bones melt, felt stars burst in the corners of her eyes, exploding into a myriad of colors that blinded her. She felt seared, burned, and marked.
Sylar stiffened against her, and she felt one hand tangle in her hair, tightening. His mouth pressed down against her collarbone, and she felt his groan reverberate against her skin. His release flooded through her and she gasped, helpless on another wave of pleasure.
The bonds around her wrists broke and she all but tumbled free. But instead of zapping him unconscious-maybe to death-and getting the hell out of dodge, all she did was collapse onto him, her arms hanging limping off his back, her legs loosening. The only thing keeping her up was Sylar’s body pinning her against the wall.
Shaking, groaning, Sylar lifted the head he had pressed between the hollow of her breasts. She moaned as his lips pressed hot kisses across her skin, trailing their way to her chin, along her jawline. She tilted her head up to give him access, but didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
His fingers ran along the top of her forehead, and she whimpered slightly. “Now, Elle,” he started, his voice raspy, thick, and made her shiver and squeeze her eyes shut. “Let’s see-”
Abruptly, his voice cut off. Elle’s eyes leapt open in shock as she was dropped to the floor, yelping in pain as her bare bottom hit the grainy pavement. Sylar came down on top of her, heavily, a moan of pain escaping his lips.
“Jesus Christ,” someone said, someone who sounded just like Noah Bennet, and Elle whimpered in humiliation. She looked pitifully over at the tattered remains of her shirt, and her arms were too weak and shaky to even attempt the clasp of her bra, and her pencil skirt was just a knot of fabric around her middle. All she could do was draw herself up into a tight little ball, covering as much skin as possible.
Her shame warred with her humiliation. What was her daddy going to say when he found out? Found out that she’d let Sylar take her virginity in a dirty alleyway outside a seedy bar? It made tears pool up in her eyes, and slide down her cheeks, as she pressed her hands against her face to muffle her sobs.
The hard feel of Sylar’s body was shoved off her, and she heard a thud as his body hit the pavement beside her. Something warm and soft dropped on her, covering her better than she had.
“It’s going to be alright, Elle,” Eden said softly and Elle opened her eyes to watch as she turned Bennet’s jacket around, shoving it behind her and helping her put her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up to her neck.
From beside her, there was a rumble that sounded like an animalist growl. Mortification slammed through Elle, and she kept her focus on Eden’s soft, pitying eyes, refusing to look at him.
“Don’t,” Sylar snapped, his voice fuzzy from the tranquilizer that Bennet had undoubtedly shot him with. “Don’t touch-”
There was another soft ping and Sylar went still again.
A hand ran through her hair and Elle blinked up at Bennet. He crouched down beside her, and there was something in his eyes that she had not seen there for a long time, at least not for her. Something soft and warm, caring almost, and it made her want to cry.
“He’s not going to touch you again, Elle,” Bennet said and made Elle cry harder.
It was even worse then them thinking she’d willingly given her virginity to a serial killer, to a man who had been ready to kill her when he had been done with her body.
They thought that Sylar had raped her. By the time Bennet and Eden had gotten into alleyway, Elle had already been slumped against Sylar, like a daisy with a broken stem, and Sylar had been tracing the forehead he had planned to make an incision on in moments.
And worse yet, she didn’t have the courage, or the strength, to tell them the truth.
So she let Bennet bundle her up in his arms, her head pressed against his chest, knowing that he was only doing this because sometimes he confused her with his pretty little cheerleader, his Claire-bear, and she didn’t care. Bennet could blame himself all she wanted, he deserved to. If it hadn’t been for him, Elle could’ve played house with Gabriel Gray, been the woman in his life, could have lost her virginity the normal way, with fumbling hands and breathy promises.
She didn’t look back at Sylar, didn’t have the heart. Would her daddy kill him, thinking that he had hurt his little girl? Maybe. Maybe not. She didn’t even know why they wanted Sylar so badly in the first place.
“It’s going to be alright, Elle,” Bennet promised her, and she buried her face further into his chest.
No, it wasn’t. They didn’t even know the half of it.
prompt:
As a Reader
Things I Want to Read: It would be neat to see some kink in this fandom, but I'll also take babyfic, angst and regular smut :) I really enjoy second season Elle but if you're gonna make Sylar good, then she has to go good with him.
Things I Donʼt Want to Read: Really involved conspiracy fics
Ratings I Want to Read: PG 13 and up.
Characters I Want to Read: Elle, Sylar/Gabriel (you can pick), if you'd like to add other characters, I'm cool with that.
Characters I Donʼt Want to Read: Not a huge fan of Tracy/Nathan
Three Prompts For Author: (can be a song lyric, phrase, word, situation)
- Sylar and Elle, using his ability for good...in the bedroom. Come on, you're telling me that a guy that can pin someone to the wall with a glance never had a dirty thought??
- Elle comes back after the future!ep from someplace (was she on an assignment, looking for someone, what?) to find her home with Gabriel & Noah destroyed and Noah gone. Did Gabriel survive??
- "I love you, not for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you" or "The ones that you love the most are usually the ones that hurt you the most."
Author: lizzyrebel
Rating: R
Prompt: secret santa for dragynflies at sylarelle
Character/Pairing: Sylar and Elle
Spoilers/Warnings: language, sex, dark themes, and voilence
Author's Notes: AU from 1x09. I tried to combine the three prompts that dragynflies gave me. It was nice to write smut again. ^_^ Hope you like it dragynflies. Ignore the fact that the title is a Melissa Etheridge song.
They tracked him down to New Jersey.
Elle figured Sylar was probably seething and after that botched attempt to do any real damage to Mr. Bennet, he was going back to what he was good at. Maria Vernez, immune to all forms of sickness, was a step closer to immortality, and in Elle’s mind that was something all big, bad villains craved.
She’d begged her daddy pretty please and he’d pulled some strings and favors with Mr. Lindermen. The old man didn’t like her very much, didn’t like how she’d zap people when she was bored or how she’d let her body spark with blue when she was really, really happy, but that was fine with Elle. She didn’t like Mr. Lindermen either, since everyone knew that her brain was a little off kilter and he never once offered to fix it for her.
But her daddy loved her, and he knew that it was important to Elle, and she’d gotten orders to meet up with Mr. Bennet and Eden as they crossed over at JFK.
Mr. Bennet was not happy about it, said nasty things to her daddy on the phone about how Elle was unpredictable and uncontrollable. Mean, old Bennet just wanted to kill Sylar all by himself, because he’d tracked him all the way to Texas and gone after his pretty little cheerleader daughter. Elle didn’t know why Sylar wanted little Claire-bear in the first place, since she hadn’t even shown a power yet, but there was also the possibility that he was just after Bennet for revenge.
Too bad for Bennet, Elle was the one with all of Sylar’s activities and current location, and she wasn’t handing over anything until they landed.
Secretly, Elle hated flying. Hating being up so high and knowing that one misguided spark and everything would come crashing down, cradle and all, but she didn’t say anything as she sat between Eden and Bennet. Eden was flipping through a Cosmo magazine that she promised to let Elle see when she was done, and Bennet was dividing his time between glowering out the window and glowering at Elle.
“You don’t have to be so mean,” Elle muttered unhappily. She tried to look at Eden for support, but the dark-haired woman was finding the Brad Pitt article very interesting.
“You screw this up and I’ll take you down myself,” Bennet snapped at her, and Elle wondered if he really could. Kill her. She sort of idealized him-the ideal company man-and felt queasy knowing that he could, and would.
Elle stuck her tongue out at him, and just to be mean, put a little spark on it.
-
She lost them in the Newark Airport. That’d show stupid Noah Bennet who he could and could not boss around, and who was the child. His precious cheerleader might be young and stupid enough to obey his orders, but Elle was a full grown woman.
But she wasn’t a complete bitch about it. Before she had ditched Eden in the bathroom, she had given them the address of the bar that Vernez worked at, slipped the files into Eden’s purse when she wasn’t looking. Usually, it was easy enough for Elle to remember that she had a huge crush on Bennet, and that Eden was one of the only girls who was sort of nice to her.
The bar Vernez worked out was in the bad part of Newark, not that the city had any good parts. It was a hike from the airport, and Elle didn’t have enough money to cover it so she had to zap the taxi driver when he started complaining. Not enough to kill him, of course, but enough to let Elle slip out without having to pay.
It was called Stainless, the bar that Vernez worked at, and it was little more than a strip club. Elle had never been in one before, and she was fascinated by the neon green and blue lights that illuminated the smoky bar, guys hunched over their drinks and girls in short mini-skirts bustling to and fro, dodging fellow workers in a practiced dance, grinning flirtatiously at grabbing hands, slapping the ones that got too confident. A big bouncer of a man crossed his arms at the low doorway, kind of reminding Elle of Bennet with the way he glowered.
She got carded by the bouncer, but she didn’t mind since she found him really charming, well over six feet tall, big as a house, black as night, with a deep, raspy voice. Elle just liked him.
“Hey,” she said, putting on her best coy grin. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Sweetheart, ain’t no in here worth your time,” the bouncer said and made Elle’s heart soar. “Best you found yourself a nice normal guy out there.”
In reality, the closest she’d ever come to ‘finding herself a guy’ was letting stupid Adam Monroe put his hand down her pants a couple of months ago. She hadn’t liked the feeling, not one bit, and had zapped the living daylights out of Adam for it. Neither of them had walked away from that incident happily.
“He sort of owes me child support,” Elle admitted. “I want to tell him that I’m filing a suit with his attorney.”
The bouncer shook his head. “What’s he look like?”
“Ah, tall. Dark-haired. Dark eyes. Kind of awkward, and a little creepy.” And he’s a serial killer. But Elle didn’t imagine that would go over well.
“We’ve gotten a guy like that hanging around here for the last couple of days, been chatting it up with Maria over there.”
“Thanks.” Her smile was bright.
“He gives you any trouble, sweetheart, you let me know and I’ll set him straight.”
Elle didn’t imagine that the big bouncer would be good in a fight against Sylar, but she definitely appreciated the sentiment and smiled widely at him, all but skipping across the dingy bar to an empty booth in the far corner.
She was getting a few stares, but she didn’t mind. She’d dressed for the occasion, in a tight, grey pencil-skirt and a stretchy, red short-sleeved top, complete with six-inch black high heels, the strappy kind that she just loved. What had Adam called them? Oh yes. Fuck me heels.
As she sat she pulled out a black and white stripped bucket hat and her Jackie O sunglass from her big, red purse. She got a few more strange looks, but she didn’t want her blonde hair giving her away to Sylar. Because of how royally Bennet messed up capturing him, he was probably on the look out for more Company workers, and he definitely knew her.
The thought made her frown a little bit, and she sunk lower into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest.
It was easy to find Maria Vernez in the slew of waitresses working the bar. She was the tallest woman there, with long, long legs that looked even longer in the mini-skirt she was wearing, with high, rounded breasts that strained against her skin-tight white shirt. She was pretty, with deep Italian eyes and rich, dark hair. She was one of the prettiest girls Elle had ever seen.
Elle decided to hate her on principal.
For a good two hours Elle watched Maria Vernez serve, flirt, and coax her patrons. Elle ordered herself a coke, wishing she could get a Shady Lady tequila or her favored Absinthe Martini. But since she planned to have Sylar tagged and bagged before she went home tonight, she needed to be sober.
And there he was.
Mr. Gabriel “Serial Killer Sylar” Gray himself. Elle leaned across her table, watching as he strode into the room, wearing dusty jeans, a black man-tailored shirt and a long trench coat. He picked Vernez out of the crowd right away, zeroing in on her with a smile as he strode across the bar to meet her, like she was the only thing in the whole wide world to him.
With a frown, Elle drummed her fingers against the cheap wood of her table. She’d met Gabriel Gray before, but he’d been a different guy then, and she wasn’t sure if she wished she had met this Gabriel Gray-suave and dashing, with a hint of danger shimmering just below the surface-or kept the one she had meet more than six months ago-awkward, clumsy, but endearing and intense beneath the glasses.
Either way, she definitely did not like the way Vernez was apparently lapping up the attention Sylar was bestowing on her. She considered zapping Vernez to make herself feel better, but couldn’t because it would give away her position.
Stupid Sylar. Why was he even flirting with Vernez anyway? Sure she was gorgeous, but he was just going to kill her and take off her skullcap, so why even bother with the pretty boy smiles and flashing dark eyes?
Elle hadn’t gotten that, but maybe she had gotten something a little better. She’d made her own special boy to love. Patched him up with tape and glue, and had been on the verge of something really, really amazing. And then she’d ruined it. Ruined him, and now here he was flirting with a tall, big-breasted waitress who couldn’t get sick.
Great. Elle was sad now.
Vernez flounced off from Sylar with a smile, disappearing behind the bar. In her wake, Sylar fidgeted nervously, eyeing the bouncer then skimming the bar-Elle ducked low in her seat-and then plastered on a big, bright smile as Vernez reappeared at his side, hand on his arm, wearing a coat over her uniform. Arm in arm, laughing into each other’s faces, they left the bar, passed the bouncer who sent Sylar a strange look, and out into the chilly New Jersey air.
Scowling, Elle wondered how much trouble she would be in for letting Sylar kill Vernez before incapacitating him. She could always just lie and say she was late.
But no. Elle sighed and picked herself up from the table, yanking off her hat and sunglasses, leaving her purse behind-not like there was anything important in there anyway. She was trying to be a good person. Her daddy always said that the Company was made up of heroes, and Elle desperately wanted to be one of them.
Dunking her head so she didn’t have to meet the bouncer’s eye, she climbed up the stairs to the exit, and stepped out into the late afternoon day. The air was bitterly cold, and Elle wished she had thought to bring a jacket. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself and all but ran around the corner of the bar, into the alleyway.
Yup. She was right. Sylar had Vernez pinned against the brick wall, her eyes wide and horrified, her legs dangling off the ground. Sylar had one hand around her throat, holding her up with his telekinesis and his own psychical strength, his whole body tensed and poised for his murder.
For a moment Elle hesitated, again wondering what the harm would be if she let Sylar kill Maria Vernez.
Almost as if acting on their own, her hands lifted and a wide, powerful burst of electricity jumped from them, hitting Sylar hard in the side, sending him sprawling into the hard pavement of the alley. Vernez hit the ground with a loud thud, her hand shooting up to her forehead-touching the thin line of blood blooming along her skull-and gasped in hard, wild breaths that made her sound like a dying fish.
Elle approached Vernez as she scrambled to her feet. The woman was half a foot taller than Elle, but she still managed to look down her nose at Vernez and inclined her head in the direction of the exit to the alleyway.
“Scat cat,” she muttered.
Vernez didn’t need to be told twice, she was gone.
Carefully, Elle approached Sylar. She cupped a ball of electricity in her hand, the power snapped just above her fingertips, humming with static. Sylar lay limp and still on the ground, not moving. She hadn’t pumped him with enough electricity to kill him, though maybe she’d be doing the world a favor if she did.
But just as she reached his feet, Sylar’s eyes snapped open. She yelped, momentarily forgetting she was supposed to be a hard-edged Company girl, and jumped back.
A force shoved her, hard, and her back cracked against the brick. Sylar climbed to his feet, his jacket singed, his eyes glazed with pain, and his whole body tensed with rage.
“You,” he hissed as his eyes cleared and Elle felt the pressure on her chest tighten.
She threw her hands out against the force, lightning crackling at her finger tips, and Sylar lifted a hand sharply, quickly. Hers were pinned above her head and she tugged at them, ineffectually.
“Elle. Elle Bishop.” He drew her name out like something foul on his tongue, stalking closer. The pressure was so tight on her chest she thought her sternum would be crushed.
Without an answering, Elle tugged against her restraints. Her feet dangled above the ground, her heels would have fallen off her tiny feet if it were for the straps around her ankles. Electricity sizzled and popped against her skin, unable to find the outsource it wanted. She looked at anything but him, stalking closer to her, boots slapping against the chilly pavement.
“What are you doing here, Elle?” When she refused to answer, refused to look at him, she felt a hand on her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. His eyes were black, deep pools of ink, and she pressed her lips in a hard line. “You work with him, don’t you? Bennet. You’re like him.”
No. She wasn’t like Bennet at all. Bennet thought shooting electricity out of your hands, or turning invisible, or having dreams of the future was weird. Thought that it was wrong, and that people who were different than him, born different than him, weren’t people at all. They were science experiments, fish in an aquarium. Tap the glass.
Sylar wouldn’t understand that, though.
“Did you come here to kill me?” he asked quietly, his face oh-so close to hers, and she remembered how she’d used to like the idea of kissing him, pressing her mouth against his, seeing what he would do. Would he blush and fumble or take and control? She’d been so curious, about everything about him.
Weakly, she nodded. Bennet wanted him dead, and her orders were that if she couldn’t take him in alive, she shouldn’t hesitate to take him in dead.
“Why didn’t you let me kill myself before, then?” he demanded hotly, and Elle felt her throat close, like a hand was being pressed against it. “Why did you save me?”
“You didn’t deserve to die,” she answered, truthfully. Gabriel Grey had been a confused, innocent young man who had been pushed and strained and pull by his glory-seeking mother. His self-esteem, and sense of self-worth had been tarnished and damaged thanks to her. He’d been willing to do anything to earn the love he felt he didn’t deserve, to convince himself he deserved it.
“And I do now.”
She nodded. Sylar was a serial kill, a man who hunted the country, slaughtering innocent people who were just like Elle, born differently from everyone else, made an outcast because of their birth. Sylar had killed them, had enjoyed it, had left their corpses for the vultures to feed on.
Yes. He deserved to die.
“And you, Elle?” The constriction of her throat tightened until she gave a gasp of pain. “How about you, Elle? You made me this way, didn’t you? Saved me to let me turn into a monster. Do you deserve to die?”
Honestly, Elle didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t like remembering the pain she’d inflicted on people over the years-some intentionally, some accidently. She didn’t remember a lot of that fire at her grandmother’s house, but remembered how the old woman had coughed and gagged on the smoke from her outburst, remembered that she’d died from it later.
Remembered how she patched a puzzle of a boy back together, and then ripped his apart. Let him believe that he could be more than a hungry beast prowling the cage of his skin, and then shown him the truth. He couldn’t.
But she nodded. One sharp, quick nod.
Intrigued now, Sylar leaned in even closer, his chest pressing against hers, his body heat nearly melting her. Elle jerked her face away the moment the invisible bond on her throat loosened. His breath was warm and moist on her neck.
“Look at me,” he snapped, and she did for whatever reason. She didn’t know what game he was playing, and she didn’t want him to play it. She wanted him to kill her and get it over with. She didn’t want him to mess around with her like he had messed around with Maria Vernez. She wanted to be different, different to him.
“I hate you,” he growled at her, this time the hand around her throat real and big. “You were such a good liar, Elle. Saving me from myself, letting me believe there was a chance. I hate you.”
She knew he did. How could he not hate her? But she didn’t hate him, not even with all the murders he had under his belt, all the people he’d hurt. She didn’t hate him. Couldn’t hate something she’d created.
Should she apologize? Say she was sorry over and over again? All she can do was turn her head and look into his eyes, watched as they blazed like hot coal in his handsome face, his fatally handsome face.
A whimper escaped her. But not one of terror, or fear. Just a whimper, an acknowledgement of their past.
Something in Sylar’s face shifted, twisted, morphed. She watched it in fascination, her mouth falling open to say something. But no sound came out, just a little choking noise. There was no pressure on her throat, save his hand, which had loosened. But it felt like all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe.
He leaned in closer then, and Elle would have never pegged him for the buff sort, but he was. She could feel the ridges of his muscles as he pressed himself against her chest, his eyes boring into hers.
“No,” she said, knowing.
But he was already pressing his mouth against hers, grinding his lips down. She yelped in pain, electricity sparking along her lips. Sylar groaned at the sensation, pressing harder into her, and she struggled against, her whole body sparking ineffectual blue. She tried to force a burst out of her, enough to knock him back, loosen his telekinetic hold on her, but she couldn’t, couldn’t find the power to dig up and force out.
She didn’t want to be taken like this. Elle had grown up on smuggled romance novels that she’d read under her covers with a flashlight. She had dreamt of steamy kisses in the shower, in the dark, about fireworks. That was why she had zapped Adam Monroe to kingdom come. He hadn’t given her fireworks, just a crude hand down her pants, tugging at the waistline of her panties.
“Yes,” Sylar said, against her mouth, his teeth napping at bottom lip. “I used to dream about… but then you were just a little liar, and now I’m a monster. So I’m just going to take.”
She shook her head, clamping her mouth shut. Sylar kissed along her jaw and Elle whimpered. She felt his hand ran across her stomach, bunching the stretchy material of her shirt. She was pinned, stretched, helpless pressed against him.
There was a tearing sound, and Elle’s shirt ripped away from her body. Cold air hit her chest and she shivered, gasping and choking. Sylar’s tongue traced her vulnerable collarbone, his hands running up and down her chest, teasing the underside of her breasts.
Her bra was pretty and pink, a pushup demi-bra edged with sheer black lace. It was her absolute favorite bra and wearing it and her matching thong made her feel womanly and sexy. She didn’t even have to worry about her daddy catching her wearing it, since she was allowed to go shopping herself.
It had a little snap in the front, where it scooped low between her breasts. Sylar slipped a hand between her skin and the bra, pulling the snap forward until it parted under the strain. She trembled as his hand cupped her breast, gently kneading it. His eyes were dark, furious, watching her reactions.
Oh no, Elle thought, feeling something bloom in her chest. Something that was not disgust, something that was not terror. Something else entirely.
Once upon a time, Elle had thought about the possibility of giving her virginity to a shy watchmaker living in Queens, dreamt of hot nights underneath him and above him. But she never, ever once dreamt of Sylar anywhere near her.
Her reality slammed back into her when she felt his warm mouth cover her breast, his teeth scrapping against her puckered nipple. She gasped, her chest expanding hugely, and stars burst in her eyes.
His hands pressed against her sides, her thighs. The invisible bonds across her legs loosened as his fingers traced the long line of her legs. He grabbed her pencil skirt, yanking it up to her wrist. She whimpered against him, her legs shaking.
The very tips, just the tips, of his fingers touched the little bow on the front of her thong. It felt like she was being electrocuted. “Oh, Elle,” he sighed.
“Sylar-” she began. Something was settling deep in her stomach, hot and liquid. It felt almost like fire, and made her want to crawl out of her skin. Maybe crawl into his.
He slammed his mouth back against her, grinding his pelvis against hers. Elle felt his erection, felt him struggling with his jeans, and squeezed her eyes shut. His free hand was cupping her breast, stoking and kneading them in a way that made her want to melt.
No. No. No. She thought. It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
A growl rumbled in his throat, deep and predatory, and she shivered wildly as he pushed aside the last barrier between them-her thin, sheer panties.
There was no warning given. Elle figured that Sylar was just doing this to punish her, knew that she would have preferred him to slice open her brain and pick at that, rather than this. He knew, and that was why he didn’t.
Instead, he spread her legs and slammed into her. Elle gasped as pain ripped through her. He was too heavy, too big, between her legs, and she felt impaled, stretched, strained. She didn’t scream, but sobbed softly, feeling a tear roll down her eye and spark on her skin as her body attempted to adjust to the pain of Sylar locked within her.
Against her, Sylar had stilled. His hands were tight on her legs, keeping her spread and opened for him.
“This is a surprise,” he managed, his voice strained and tight. “I knew you were playing at it-but I never imagined…”
He shifted. Not to a gentle motion, but a different one. Like his proprieties, his goals, had changed.
A gasp escaped her lips, but it was different this time. The pain was still there, like a hard throbbing at the base of her back, but it was dulling and something else was taking its place. Something white and hot and burning.
Her hands were still pinned above her head, and she still couldn’t move them, but her legs were free. She lifted them and wrapped them around his narrow waist, digging her heels into the small of his back, pressing his length deeper inside of her.
Yes. There. There was the spark. The fireworks. The pain throbbed, but was quickly overridden by a jolt of pleasure that shook her right down to her core.
“Please,” she whispered, brokenly.
Sylar groaned, and his one hand ran up her body, to her hand pinned above her head, his fingers twining with hers. His hips jerked against hers, stroking the insides of her, and Elle moaned, her head falling backwards. It would have hit the brick wall, hard, if Sylar hadn’t cupped the back of her head with his other hand to cushion her.
With a soft, controlled grunt, Sylar’s hips began to pump, in and out. She was helpless, riding the waves of pleasure that swarmed through her. She still couldn’t move her wrists, but she kept her legs locked around his hips, lifting her own to eagerly meeting his thrusts.
Her vision of the world blurred, and all she could see was colors. Bright colors, red and greens and blues. Someone was sobbing-not sad tears, just crying-but Elle was too caught up the sensations to pay attention. She was aware of Sylar shoving up her legs, bending them at the knees and pressing them up and back against her chest, so he could stroke her deeper, harder, until it felt like they were just one person. She couldn’t make out his face, and replaced it with her memory of Gabriel Gray’s, shy and pretty, with glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose.
Something sharp and hot worked through her. Elle screamed, felt her bones melt, felt stars burst in the corners of her eyes, exploding into a myriad of colors that blinded her. She felt seared, burned, and marked.
Sylar stiffened against her, and she felt one hand tangle in her hair, tightening. His mouth pressed down against her collarbone, and she felt his groan reverberate against her skin. His release flooded through her and she gasped, helpless on another wave of pleasure.
The bonds around her wrists broke and she all but tumbled free. But instead of zapping him unconscious-maybe to death-and getting the hell out of dodge, all she did was collapse onto him, her arms hanging limping off his back, her legs loosening. The only thing keeping her up was Sylar’s body pinning her against the wall.
Shaking, groaning, Sylar lifted the head he had pressed between the hollow of her breasts. She moaned as his lips pressed hot kisses across her skin, trailing their way to her chin, along her jawline. She tilted her head up to give him access, but didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
His fingers ran along the top of her forehead, and she whimpered slightly. “Now, Elle,” he started, his voice raspy, thick, and made her shiver and squeeze her eyes shut. “Let’s see-”
Abruptly, his voice cut off. Elle’s eyes leapt open in shock as she was dropped to the floor, yelping in pain as her bare bottom hit the grainy pavement. Sylar came down on top of her, heavily, a moan of pain escaping his lips.
“Jesus Christ,” someone said, someone who sounded just like Noah Bennet, and Elle whimpered in humiliation. She looked pitifully over at the tattered remains of her shirt, and her arms were too weak and shaky to even attempt the clasp of her bra, and her pencil skirt was just a knot of fabric around her middle. All she could do was draw herself up into a tight little ball, covering as much skin as possible.
Her shame warred with her humiliation. What was her daddy going to say when he found out? Found out that she’d let Sylar take her virginity in a dirty alleyway outside a seedy bar? It made tears pool up in her eyes, and slide down her cheeks, as she pressed her hands against her face to muffle her sobs.
The hard feel of Sylar’s body was shoved off her, and she heard a thud as his body hit the pavement beside her. Something warm and soft dropped on her, covering her better than she had.
“It’s going to be alright, Elle,” Eden said softly and Elle opened her eyes to watch as she turned Bennet’s jacket around, shoving it behind her and helping her put her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up to her neck.
From beside her, there was a rumble that sounded like an animalist growl. Mortification slammed through Elle, and she kept her focus on Eden’s soft, pitying eyes, refusing to look at him.
“Don’t,” Sylar snapped, his voice fuzzy from the tranquilizer that Bennet had undoubtedly shot him with. “Don’t touch-”
There was another soft ping and Sylar went still again.
A hand ran through her hair and Elle blinked up at Bennet. He crouched down beside her, and there was something in his eyes that she had not seen there for a long time, at least not for her. Something soft and warm, caring almost, and it made her want to cry.
“He’s not going to touch you again, Elle,” Bennet said and made Elle cry harder.
It was even worse then them thinking she’d willingly given her virginity to a serial killer, to a man who had been ready to kill her when he had been done with her body.
They thought that Sylar had raped her. By the time Bennet and Eden had gotten into alleyway, Elle had already been slumped against Sylar, like a daisy with a broken stem, and Sylar had been tracing the forehead he had planned to make an incision on in moments.
And worse yet, she didn’t have the courage, or the strength, to tell them the truth.
So she let Bennet bundle her up in his arms, her head pressed against his chest, knowing that he was only doing this because sometimes he confused her with his pretty little cheerleader, his Claire-bear, and she didn’t care. Bennet could blame himself all she wanted, he deserved to. If it hadn’t been for him, Elle could’ve played house with Gabriel Gray, been the woman in his life, could have lost her virginity the normal way, with fumbling hands and breathy promises.
She didn’t look back at Sylar, didn’t have the heart. Would her daddy kill him, thinking that he had hurt his little girl? Maybe. Maybe not. She didn’t even know why they wanted Sylar so badly in the first place.
“It’s going to be alright, Elle,” Bennet promised her, and she buried her face further into his chest.
No, it wasn’t. They didn’t even know the half of it.
prompt:
As a Reader
Things I Want to Read: It would be neat to see some kink in this fandom, but I'll also take babyfic, angst and regular smut :) I really enjoy second season Elle but if you're gonna make Sylar good, then she has to go good with him.
Things I Donʼt Want to Read: Really involved conspiracy fics
Ratings I Want to Read: PG 13 and up.
Characters I Want to Read: Elle, Sylar/Gabriel (you can pick), if you'd like to add other characters, I'm cool with that.
Characters I Donʼt Want to Read: Not a huge fan of Tracy/Nathan
Three Prompts For Author: (can be a song lyric, phrase, word, situation)
- Sylar and Elle, using his ability for good...in the bedroom. Come on, you're telling me that a guy that can pin someone to the wall with a glance never had a dirty thought??
- Elle comes back after the future!ep from someplace (was she on an assignment, looking for someone, what?) to find her home with Gabriel & Noah destroyed and Noah gone. Did Gabriel survive??
- "I love you, not for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you" or "The ones that you love the most are usually the ones that hurt you the most."