Bondage: The Meaning of Power (Sylar/Audrey, NC-17)
Title: The Meaning of Power
Author: Artemis Rain
Fandom: Heroes
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: graphic sex, dub-con (veering slightly into non-con), bondage (of a sort).
Pairing: Sylar/Audrey
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Around 1550
Summary: After using her to get to Ted, Sylar teaches Audrey what it means to have power. Set between “Landslide” and “How to Stop an Exploding Man.”
A/N: Go figure. One of my first attempts at graphic sex and it’s het. I am the worst lesbian ever. Written for the tamingthemuse prompt, “Hello darkness, my old friend” and the rare_heroes bondage challenge.
***
It takes him a moment, when he comes back to himself, to make sense of the new scenes on the canvases.
His eyes clear again, he stares at the first, squinting slightly. A tough-looking blonde is frowning angrily at a dark form hanging down in front of her, and there’s blood…
Hmmm. Yes, he does recognize her. And the dark shape, when he tilts his head, resembles the emptied skull of Ted Sprague, still upside down in the truck where he himself had left the man.
Audrey Hanson, perfectly framed in the image with the consequences of her mistake.
He’s been pursued by Agent Hanson from the beginning, to his great amusement. Trailing him like a lioness stalking her prey; oblivious to the fact that in his eyes she’s little more than a mouse to his dragon.
But she is tenacious. So determined to bring him down, even though she doesn’t posses a fraction of the power it would take to do so.
He reaches out a hand toward the painting, grinning darkly with amusement, tracing without touching the lines of her face.
He must admit, she is strikingly beautiful, and even more so when she’s in a foul mood. Something about the way her features twist themselves into an aggressive grimace, as though she can threaten the entire world into behaving just for her. As though she can glare a case into solving itself.
There’s something quite endearing about it.
And the look on her face when she thanked “Mr. Mendez” for turning in a “dangerous criminal” was priceless, setting Sprague up perfectly for his attack. There’s a moment he’d give anything to relive.
Audrey Hanson, his favorite nuisance, his plaything, thanking him for using her like a puppet to commit murder.
A sound that might be a chuckle escapes from his throat, as he takes in the sight of her.
He has grown so very much in every way that matters, and she remains as terribly… insignificant, as ever. Yet still she dogs his heels, believing she has the power to stop him, to lock him up. It’s as amusing as it is pathetic.
Perhaps it’s time they had another little chat, face to face.
He turns his attention to the second canvas, where her familiar blonde profile sits hunched over a glass in a plush hotel bar, The Oceanus Hotel’s well-known logo stamped prominently on the wall behind her.
He grins darkly in anticipation, turning to the door. He lifts a hand, palm out, reveling in the sensation of sheer power building up within him, humming like electricity through his veins and erupting, invisible; guided by his raised hand. Before him, on the floor, the painter’s blood parts down the middle like the Red Sea, and he steps carefully over the body of Isaac Mendez, across the studio, and out into the night.
***
Darkness embraces him like an old friend. Though he doesn’t need the night to hide, there is something soothing about the dark; something welcoming.
The allure of the night was something Gabriel Gray had never understood.
He grins wolfishly out the cab window at the little lambs scurrying about the sidewalks, moonlight on their faces obscured by the glare of the shops.
So tiny. So ignorant. He wonders briefly if any one of them has anything worth taking.
But that’s not what he’s hunting for tonight.
The cab arrives at the Oceanus in good time, and he tips the driver well.
The car speeds away, his lingering presence tainting it with murder; dusting it with power.
***
He finds her just as the painting showed; in a corner table, hunched over an almost-empty glass, looking sullen and worn.
She raises an eyebrow sharply when he approaches, a glass in each hand.
Placing the new drink in front of her, he lets his inner goody-two-shoes shine through.
“Agent Hanson, right?”
She sizes him up for a long moment before accepting the drink and inviting him to sit. From the dazed look in her eyes, it’s clear she’s been through more than just the one glass on the table.
Arresting a radioactive man and finding his grisly remains on the same day can do that to a person.
“Mr. Mendez. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
He grins as sheepishly as he can manage, shrugging casually. “Well, I was supposed to be meeting someone, but I was running late and, ah, I guess she didn’t wait.”
She nods disinterestedly, taking in his dark eyes and inviting features.
The careful appraisal of a woman who wants to get fucked.
He grins flirtatiously. “I think it worked out better for me this way.”
Small talk doesn’t last long. Every lie out of his mouth is more seductive than the last, until a few accidental touches and meaningful glances have the two of them standing chest to chest, mouths crushed together with bruising force, tumbling through the door of her hotel room in the darkness.
She pauses to turn on a single lamp, and in the soft golden light she pulls off his shirt, smirking wickedly with anticipation at his bare chest.
He reciprocates, recklessly unbuttoning her blouse while she fumbles to remove both his pants and her own, reaching into her pocket to produce a condom which she rips open with her teeth.
The clasp of her bra releases easily at his touch, and he reaches around to cup her breasts, circling her nipples with his thumbs and feeling them stiffen. She pulls down his underwear, letting them fall to the floor as she shimmies out of her own and reaches for his cock. She grips it firmly, caressing the head, pulling slowly and building speed, stroking it to hardness while he groans in appreciation, squeezing her breasts and leaning down to bite gently at her neck.
One hand leaves her breast and travels south to stroke between her legs, his mouth taking its place over her nipple. She’s wet and obviously ready for him, and he slips two fingers inside her, scissoring and curling them while she works his cock, brushing his thumb against her clit until she’s trembling and eager. She gives him one more strong pull and rolls slick latex down his shaft.
“God, you’re so…” he whispers, and she breathes, “Shut up,” pushing him back toward the bed until he is lying flat with his huntress/prey over top of him, straddling him, sinking herself down on his aching dick and rocking; sweating, groaning, riding him hard, her bright eyes squeezed shut, not even looking at him, just using him.
He clutches her hips with enough force to bruise and arches up to meet her every thrust.
He stares at her as she fucks herself on him wildly, endlessly, thinking she has the power, thinking she’s in charge. With a gasp, she throws her head back. Her muscles clench around him and he knows she’s close.
Without warning, he rolls, flipping them so that her back is to the mattress, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he pounds rhythmically into her, harder and harder with all the force he can muster.
She writhes, wanting to be on top but too aroused to find the words to complain.
He reaches out with his mind, wrapping his power around her like a blanket and squeezing, stilling her movement. With his thoughts, the power thundering through his body, he holds her down tightly while slamming home again and again. He can feel her muscles clenching uselessly underneath him, and a small gasp of confusion and panic escapes her lips.
His ears are filled with her pounding heartbeat, hidden beneath the sounds of the creaking bed and the slap of flesh against flesh, as she cries out in alarm and tries futilely to struggle.
He laughs once; a dark, hollow sound. A wicked grin spreads across his face as the wide-eyed realization strikes her, and she whispers in horror, “Sylar.”
Then, with a flickering of his mental touch against her clit, she’s coming hard, thrashing beneath him without movement, and the firing of her muscles milks from him his own orgasm, hot seed pumping out and filling the tight latex as he continues to fuck into her, laughing, until every drop has spilled out and his cock begins to soften.
He pulls out and discards the condom on the floor, but doesn’t release her. She lies, motionless except for the dramatic rise and fall of her chest, gasping for breath, soaked with sweat and still muttering his name in disbelief, until he silences her with a thought.
Her head tips up and she watches helplessly as his clothes fly off the floor in a whirl of dark colour, and find their way back on to him.
He looms over her, staring at her naked and sated body, relishing the powerlessness in her eyes, the knowledge that right now she is completely under his control, helpless and silent and truly understanding what it means to have power.
He holds her there until her eyes begin to slip closed, the additive mixed into her drink finally taking effect.
When her heart slows and her body relaxes, he releases her from his hold, stealing silently out the door without a backward glance, and vanishing into the darkness.
When morning comes, she won’t remember a thing.
She never does.
***
Author: Artemis Rain
Fandom: Heroes
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: graphic sex, dub-con (veering slightly into non-con), bondage (of a sort).
Pairing: Sylar/Audrey
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Around 1550
Summary: After using her to get to Ted, Sylar teaches Audrey what it means to have power. Set between “Landslide” and “How to Stop an Exploding Man.”
A/N: Go figure. One of my first attempts at graphic sex and it’s het. I am the worst lesbian ever. Written for the tamingthemuse prompt, “Hello darkness, my old friend” and the rare_heroes bondage challenge.
***
It takes him a moment, when he comes back to himself, to make sense of the new scenes on the canvases.
His eyes clear again, he stares at the first, squinting slightly. A tough-looking blonde is frowning angrily at a dark form hanging down in front of her, and there’s blood…
Hmmm. Yes, he does recognize her. And the dark shape, when he tilts his head, resembles the emptied skull of Ted Sprague, still upside down in the truck where he himself had left the man.
Audrey Hanson, perfectly framed in the image with the consequences of her mistake.
He’s been pursued by Agent Hanson from the beginning, to his great amusement. Trailing him like a lioness stalking her prey; oblivious to the fact that in his eyes she’s little more than a mouse to his dragon.
But she is tenacious. So determined to bring him down, even though she doesn’t posses a fraction of the power it would take to do so.
He reaches out a hand toward the painting, grinning darkly with amusement, tracing without touching the lines of her face.
He must admit, she is strikingly beautiful, and even more so when she’s in a foul mood. Something about the way her features twist themselves into an aggressive grimace, as though she can threaten the entire world into behaving just for her. As though she can glare a case into solving itself.
There’s something quite endearing about it.
And the look on her face when she thanked “Mr. Mendez” for turning in a “dangerous criminal” was priceless, setting Sprague up perfectly for his attack. There’s a moment he’d give anything to relive.
Audrey Hanson, his favorite nuisance, his plaything, thanking him for using her like a puppet to commit murder.
A sound that might be a chuckle escapes from his throat, as he takes in the sight of her.
He has grown so very much in every way that matters, and she remains as terribly… insignificant, as ever. Yet still she dogs his heels, believing she has the power to stop him, to lock him up. It’s as amusing as it is pathetic.
Perhaps it’s time they had another little chat, face to face.
He turns his attention to the second canvas, where her familiar blonde profile sits hunched over a glass in a plush hotel bar, The Oceanus Hotel’s well-known logo stamped prominently on the wall behind her.
He grins darkly in anticipation, turning to the door. He lifts a hand, palm out, reveling in the sensation of sheer power building up within him, humming like electricity through his veins and erupting, invisible; guided by his raised hand. Before him, on the floor, the painter’s blood parts down the middle like the Red Sea, and he steps carefully over the body of Isaac Mendez, across the studio, and out into the night.
***
Darkness embraces him like an old friend. Though he doesn’t need the night to hide, there is something soothing about the dark; something welcoming.
The allure of the night was something Gabriel Gray had never understood.
He grins wolfishly out the cab window at the little lambs scurrying about the sidewalks, moonlight on their faces obscured by the glare of the shops.
So tiny. So ignorant. He wonders briefly if any one of them has anything worth taking.
But that’s not what he’s hunting for tonight.
The cab arrives at the Oceanus in good time, and he tips the driver well.
The car speeds away, his lingering presence tainting it with murder; dusting it with power.
***
He finds her just as the painting showed; in a corner table, hunched over an almost-empty glass, looking sullen and worn.
She raises an eyebrow sharply when he approaches, a glass in each hand.
Placing the new drink in front of her, he lets his inner goody-two-shoes shine through.
“Agent Hanson, right?”
She sizes him up for a long moment before accepting the drink and inviting him to sit. From the dazed look in her eyes, it’s clear she’s been through more than just the one glass on the table.
Arresting a radioactive man and finding his grisly remains on the same day can do that to a person.
“Mr. Mendez. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
He grins as sheepishly as he can manage, shrugging casually. “Well, I was supposed to be meeting someone, but I was running late and, ah, I guess she didn’t wait.”
She nods disinterestedly, taking in his dark eyes and inviting features.
The careful appraisal of a woman who wants to get fucked.
He grins flirtatiously. “I think it worked out better for me this way.”
Small talk doesn’t last long. Every lie out of his mouth is more seductive than the last, until a few accidental touches and meaningful glances have the two of them standing chest to chest, mouths crushed together with bruising force, tumbling through the door of her hotel room in the darkness.
She pauses to turn on a single lamp, and in the soft golden light she pulls off his shirt, smirking wickedly with anticipation at his bare chest.
He reciprocates, recklessly unbuttoning her blouse while she fumbles to remove both his pants and her own, reaching into her pocket to produce a condom which she rips open with her teeth.
The clasp of her bra releases easily at his touch, and he reaches around to cup her breasts, circling her nipples with his thumbs and feeling them stiffen. She pulls down his underwear, letting them fall to the floor as she shimmies out of her own and reaches for his cock. She grips it firmly, caressing the head, pulling slowly and building speed, stroking it to hardness while he groans in appreciation, squeezing her breasts and leaning down to bite gently at her neck.
One hand leaves her breast and travels south to stroke between her legs, his mouth taking its place over her nipple. She’s wet and obviously ready for him, and he slips two fingers inside her, scissoring and curling them while she works his cock, brushing his thumb against her clit until she’s trembling and eager. She gives him one more strong pull and rolls slick latex down his shaft.
“God, you’re so…” he whispers, and she breathes, “Shut up,” pushing him back toward the bed until he is lying flat with his huntress/prey over top of him, straddling him, sinking herself down on his aching dick and rocking; sweating, groaning, riding him hard, her bright eyes squeezed shut, not even looking at him, just using him.
He clutches her hips with enough force to bruise and arches up to meet her every thrust.
He stares at her as she fucks herself on him wildly, endlessly, thinking she has the power, thinking she’s in charge. With a gasp, she throws her head back. Her muscles clench around him and he knows she’s close.
Without warning, he rolls, flipping them so that her back is to the mattress, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he pounds rhythmically into her, harder and harder with all the force he can muster.
She writhes, wanting to be on top but too aroused to find the words to complain.
He reaches out with his mind, wrapping his power around her like a blanket and squeezing, stilling her movement. With his thoughts, the power thundering through his body, he holds her down tightly while slamming home again and again. He can feel her muscles clenching uselessly underneath him, and a small gasp of confusion and panic escapes her lips.
His ears are filled with her pounding heartbeat, hidden beneath the sounds of the creaking bed and the slap of flesh against flesh, as she cries out in alarm and tries futilely to struggle.
He laughs once; a dark, hollow sound. A wicked grin spreads across his face as the wide-eyed realization strikes her, and she whispers in horror, “Sylar.”
Then, with a flickering of his mental touch against her clit, she’s coming hard, thrashing beneath him without movement, and the firing of her muscles milks from him his own orgasm, hot seed pumping out and filling the tight latex as he continues to fuck into her, laughing, until every drop has spilled out and his cock begins to soften.
He pulls out and discards the condom on the floor, but doesn’t release her. She lies, motionless except for the dramatic rise and fall of her chest, gasping for breath, soaked with sweat and still muttering his name in disbelief, until he silences her with a thought.
Her head tips up and she watches helplessly as his clothes fly off the floor in a whirl of dark colour, and find their way back on to him.
He looms over her, staring at her naked and sated body, relishing the powerlessness in her eyes, the knowledge that right now she is completely under his control, helpless and silent and truly understanding what it means to have power.
He holds her there until her eyes begin to slip closed, the additive mixed into her drink finally taking effect.
When her heart slows and her body relaxes, he releases her from his hold, stealing silently out the door without a backward glance, and vanishing into the darkness.
When morning comes, she won’t remember a thing.
She never does.
***