Attack of the Swamp Monster
Title: Attack of the Swamp Monster
Author: cameroncrazed
Rating: R
Warning: pegging (very mild, I promise)
Disclaimer: Not mine. I’m playing in someone else’s sandbox. Sorry about that.
Notes: A giant thank you to ladyanne525 for being a truly awesome beta! Y’all should all thank her for making me write something coherent ;) Written for prompt #3: dressed in drag for the Ridiculously Specific prompt table. Inspiration comes from “Laid” (James). There's a hint as to what I'm working on for my next story, if you can find it ;)
“Dr. Greene, your three-thirty’s here.” The secretary’s voice drops. “It’s them, again,” the obviously spooked girl whispers.
Sharon Greene immediately grabs the small bottle of aspirin she hides in her desk, and grimacing, dry swallows three of them. It’s not enough to deal with the headache she knows is imminent, but it makes her feel better that she’s being proactive with the problem. Of course, if she really wanted to be proactive, she’d drop the couple from her practice, but she has high hopes that they’re on the edge of a breakthrough, and they’ll either live happily ever after or divorce - either way, they wouldn’t be her problem anymore. “Let them in.”
“If you say so.” The secretary sounds dubious.
Claire flounces in first, quickly stretching out across the couch. Her husband stomps in after her, and after Claire glares and kicks at him, refusing to give up a scant nanometer of sofa space, he takes the small uncomfortable chair.
Sharon sighs. “Mrs. Gray, if you would please…” She waves her hand towards the couch. “How am I supposed to help you with your togetherness with you two sitting on opposite sides of the room?”
“He can sit here when he apologizes.” Claire moves her legs slightly, then glares at Sylar.
“And I’ll apologize when hell freezes over.” He spits out.
“Or you can apologize now, and we can discuss why you’re here?” Sharon suggests as she discreetly sends an email to her secretary to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day; they’re obviously in a fighting mood, which means they’re going to be cluttering her office for a few hours.
“We’re here because my family insists we get counseling or sing kumbaya or some sort of togetherness crap. By the way, my dad wanted me to ask you if you were free Saturday.”
Great. Nathan ‘Delusions of Grandeur’ Petrelli. Sharon wonders if he wants another therapy session or a date. “I’ll call him tomorrow. Now, what’s the problem this time?”
“He’s mad at me because he thinks I spend too much time with Peter, and he refuses to give me sex.”
“One, I’m not mad because she spends time with Peter, I’m mad because I think they’re sleeping together.” Sylar yells back. “And two, we’re not discussing our sex life.”
“That’s because we don’t have one. P.S. You’re delusional! D. E. L…” Claire starts to retort.
“Claire! That’s enough!” Sharon hates having to be the one to break up their fights, but if they don’t get on topic soon, nothing will ever get accomplished in this session.
“Oh, I wish you hadn’t have done that.” Sylar pouts. “I wanted to see if she could actually spell the entire word. I doubt it.”
Claire quickly replies. “Fuck you.”
Sylar continues on like she hadn’t spoken. “Okay then, putting aside the fact that my loving wife may or may not be sleeping with her creepy uncle, I’m not sleeping with someone who flavors my coffee with rat poison and tries to kill me with the kitchen knives we got as a wedding gift.”
Sharon makes a note on their rather lengthy file; it might be time to make an anonymous tip to the cops. Again.
“Only because you’ve learned about the secret recipe chai, darling. Besides, I thought that the woman was supposed to be the one who gets pouty and turned off.” Claire crosses her arms over her chest.
“You know,” Sharon interrupts, “divorce isn’t always a bad thing.”
“Not happening.” Sylar immediately dismisses the idea. “And since when have you ever taken the feminine role in this relationship, Claire? I clean, you smoke cigars; I cook our dinners, and you try to kill yourself racing motorcycles.”
Fascinating. They’ve never revealed their gender role issues before. Sharon’s excited; maybe they really will make their breakthrough this session. “How does that make you feel, Sylar?”
He looks at her like she’s the dumbest individual he’s ever met. “Pissed off. How do you think I feel about damned motor oil soaked into the carpet? I’ve spent days scrubbing it, and it still won’t come out.”
Claire laughs, and Sharon chastises her. “It’s not funny, Claire. Maybe the gender reversement is the problem?”
“I put the oil there on purpose, dumbass.” She smirks at Sylar. “I do so love seeing you on your knees, ass up in the air, shaking it back and forth as you scrub.”
Oh. Sharon makes another note on the file as they continue to bicker. Finally, after an hour and several rounds of online sudoku, she interrupts them. “Well, obviously we had a lot to discuss today.”
They stop arguing long enough to glare at her.
“I have to be honest with you two; I don’t think you’re getting much out of our sessions. Quite frankly, you’re dysfunctional.”
“With a capital DYS.” Claire remarks.
“Also a capital FUN,” Sylar grins, “you can’t forget the fun.”
Sharon’s glad they can work as a team when it suits them, but wishes that they could do that when they didn’t have a common enemy. “Honestly, I don’t see the need for you to come back for more sessions. I can give you the numbers of some really good divorce lawyers or an excellent sex therapist, but that’s all the help I can provide.”
“Dear, I do believe our therapist is dumping us.” Claire pouts as she stands up, holding out her hand to Sylar.
He takes it, and frowns too. “I think you’re supposed to tell us that it’s not us, that it’s you.”
“I’m not dumping you!” Sharon has to take a deep breath. “I’m not. I just think that you have issues that I can’t help you with. Call the sex guy. I think he’ll really help.”
The Grays exchange dubious looks. Sylar’s the one who speaks up. “Not happening.”
She really wishes that she had a bottle of liquor in her office. “Okay, well, not that you’re going to follow any of my advice, but go home, talk, maybe explore some of those reversed gender roles. Buy some fun toys, try a strap-on, go for a romantic getaway, do whatever you want to. Go wild. Now, get out of my office.”
- - - - - - - - - -
They hold hands as they slip into the store, Claire giggling nervously. “I don’t know about this…”
It’s the first time she’s acted remotely innocent or girlish in years. He finds it endearing, and he squeezes her hand as he leads her over to the appropriate aisle. Both of their eyes go wide as they take in the selection, and Sylar starts to have serious doubts about what he’s agreed to try. “Claire…” Before he can tell her that they’re leaving, she spots something at the end of the aisle, and drags him over to look at it.
“Ooooh!” She coos as she holds up the package for him to look at. “It’s green!”
“It’s huge.” No way, no how is he letting her get anywhere near him with that monster. He reminds himself that it’s just a toy, it’s not real, and it’s not a mark against him if it just happens to be twice as large as he is.
She carries on as if she hadn’t heard him. “It’s glittery!”
He can’t believe she thinks glitter is a positive thing about a dildo. “It’s monstrous.” His hands casually fall behind him, as if they could protect him against the thing in Claire’s hands.
“I love it! Let’s get it.”
“Oh, hell no. Why don’t we just get you a nice clit vibe instead, or some fuzzy handcuffs?”
“I’ll use lube, honey. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t taken things up the ass before, is it? Now, let’s get you something cute to wear.” She smiles at him, and it only has a hint of a smirk to it. “Besides, if you let me do this, then I’ll let you do that thing that you’ve been wanting to do.”
Eyeing the dildo again, Sylar has to admit that maybe it’s not that big after all. He tosses the green monster in the basket, and pulls her over to the lingerie section with a smile on his face. He just hopes that they have a cheerleading outfit in his size.
- - - - - - - - - -
“This is officially bizarre.” Claire yells at him from their bedroom.
He knows. Looking in the foyer mirror, he wonders for the tenth time how she managed to talk him into this. The skirt isn’t too bad, a bit on the short side, but the bra band is too small and his makeup is atrocious. The shoes were obviously made by a sadist, and he can’t help but worry that they make him look a bit like a drag queen.
“Ready or not, here I come!” Claire dramatically flings open the door, and immediately starts laughing. Sylar scowls as he jerks the wig off; he should have known that it looked ridiculous.
“Oh, don’t worry, babe, you look edible.” She coos at him. “How do I look?”
“What are you supposed to be dressed as?” He tilts his head to the side, trying to decide if she’s supposed to be a villain or an extra from the latest Harry Potter movie; either way, head-to-toe body-concealing black isn’t a turn-on. “What are you wearing?”
“Don’t you like it? I’m dressed up as you!” She saunters over to him, and pushes him down on the couch before massaging his shoulders. Reaching up towards the ceiling, he lets her pull the uniform sweater over his head; she tosses it out of the way, and for once, he doesn’t care that she’s throwing clothes on the floor.
“I never wore that.” He knows a fact that he’s never even owned anything so ludicrous. She works out a knot in his shoulder, and he moans in appreciation.
“Poetic license, babe.” Seeing the look he gives her, Claire sighs. “Okay, so I stole it out of Peter’s closet. Happy now? But in my defense, all really great villains wear ominous black trench coats and you just didn’t have the good sense to do the same, so I had to make due. Now, are you ready for this?” She pushes the voluminous trench aside to showcase her holster and new green toy.
“It looks like a sparkling swamp monster’s attached itself to your clit.” He answers dryly.
She looks down at it, and laughs. “I still look better than you do.” As she unfastens the buttons on the coat, she bends over to kiss him.
He growls, and pulls her closer to him. The toy feels odd, pressed in between them and rubbing against his own cock, but not too alien. Falling onto his back, he yanks her onto the coach before rolling them sideways so that they’re reclining on the cushions.
“No, Sylar.” Claire pushes at him softly, and he realizes that she’s supposed to be the one taking the lead.
He lets her flip them over so that he’s on his back, and he’s rewarded when she slithers down his body, focusing her attention elsewhere as she pushes up his skirt and nuzzles against the tender skin at the base of his groin. He’s so lost in the feel of her mouth wrapped around him that he barely notices when she starts playing with his balls and running a fingernail lightly along his perineum.
Her mouth pulls off of him with a loud pop that sounds obscene even to him, but his disappointment is quickly forgotten when she reaches across his body to grab the bottle of lube off their nightstand.
“Do you still want to?” She whispers as she pops the lid open, squeezing some of the substance onto her fingers. His mouth is so dry, he can’t do anything other than nod yes, and she rewards him with another kiss. “Roll over,” she commands, and he willingly obeys, resting his head against the back of the sofa as he gets on his hands and knees. Knowing how she likes his floor-scrubbing moves, he teases her with a quick shimmy.
“Oh, baby, shake it.” They both laugh, and any nervous tension is gone.
Her fingers are cool, but she goes slowly, and as she lines up with her cock with his entrance, it’s all he can do to keep from whimpering with need. They both gasp when she slides all the way in.
Tentative at first, she quickly starts moving faster. Really getting into character, she smacks him across the ass. “How do you like me now, cheerleader? Huh?”
Sylar’s glad she can’t see him roll his eyes. When he’d told her to talk dirty, he hadn’t meant like that. “Oh, you’re so scary, I’m terrified,” he deadpans.
She smacks him again. “Sylar, behave. Now, scream for me cheerleader.”
He can’t help himself; hysterical laughter bubbles out of his mouth.
“I said, scream for me cheerleader!” She changes her angle, and he suddenly feels pressure against his prostate, and he’s seeing stars. She hits the spot again, and he can’t stop himself from yelling in ecstasy.
- - - - - - - - - -
With a bounce in his step, Peter hops off the elevator and heads down the hallway leading to Sylar and Claire’s apartment. He hopes they like the surprise he has for them, he thinks; after a rough day in therapy, he knows they’re going to need the gallon of Ben and Jerry’s that he’s so graciously bought them.
Before he can reach the apartment, though, a terrible bellow rings through the air. Peter drops the ice cream immediately, crouching down in a defensive manner. Sylar. Sylar - and thus, Claire - must be in trouble! He wonders what sort of horrible atrocity or villain could make Sylar scream like that, and he knows that they’re going to need his help. Pulling up Mohinder’s strength, Peter sprints down the hallway and crashes through the door.
“I’m here to save the…. GAH!” His eyes, his poor innocent eyes were never meant to see such a sight. Those hairy legs, that short and sassy little red cheerleading skirt, that dick… He screams again when he sees Claire standing behind Sylar, clad only in a trench coat that looks vaguely familiar. “I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know… sorry I interrupted.”
Claire moves away from Sylar, and Sylar yelps again before doing something completely disgustingly male, it’s only then that Peter realizes exactly what he’d interrupted. As Claire steps towards him, green dildo bobbing in the air, he formulates a plan. He reaches out and grabs her wrist, quickly taking her power, then sprints towards their master bathroom.
As he starts rummaging through their assortment of accoutrements, he mentally blesses Sylar for his obsessive clean-freak nature - he knows of no other home where he’d find the bleach so easily.
“Peter, don’t be so dramatic.” Claire lectures at him while he fumbles with the cap on the bottle. “It’s just sex. Okay, so it was kinda kinky sex and you saw me pegging Sylar with a bright green dildo that we’ve nicknamed the Swamp Monster while he was dressed up in a replica of my old uniform, but still… it’s just sex.”
The cap breaks in pieces when he rams his fist against it.
“Don’t be such a child, Peter.”
He doesn’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. The bleach does nothing for the mental images still running through his head.
- - - - - - - - - -
“You know,” Sylar states over the high-pitched screams, “I take back what I said at therapy today. About you and Peter.” He sits down at the table and kicks the other chair out into the middle of the floor.
“Oh?” Claire tightens the belt of the trench coat and steps out into the hallway, grabbing the forgotten ice cream and waving at a startled neighbor. “What changed your mind?” she asks as soon as she steps back into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. She hands him the ice cream, and goes to grab two spoons out of the silverware drawer.
“My eyes! My eyes! Aaaaaahhhhhh!” Peter runs through the middle of their kitchen, tripping over the conveniently placed chair. He opens one eye to look at what he’d fallen over, and spotting Sylar still in the semen-spattered skirt and bra and the green monster on the table, starts squealing like a traumatized Girl Scout again.
“Let’s just say that I think he probably wouldn’t be able to handle you.” Sylar pulls his wife onto his lap, arms wrapped loosely around her.
“Yeah, I do like someone a bit more mature.” They both watch as Peter continues to run around, this time getting tripped up in Sylar’s discarded sweater. “You know what, that doctor might not be a quack after all. That idea of hers has really helped us. Do you want me to make another appointment?”
Sylar shrugs. “Sure. Two or three times a week sounds reasonable.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Somewhere across town, Sharon Greene awakes from a deep sleep, screaming. The man sharing her bed immediately jumps up, on alert. “What, what is it?” He yells as he tries to jump into his pants.
“Nothing.” Her heart is racing a mile a minute. “Must have been a bad dream. It just seemed so real. Spooky.” She shivers, then chastizes herself for being scared of a manifestation of her own subconscious via various neural pathways and neurotransmitters; it’s not possible that she actually dreamed the future, she knows that for certain.
Nathan just shrugs, and drops his pants again. “Well then, since we’re awake anyway…”
- - - - - - - - - -
And they all had a good night ;)
(Well, except for Peter ;) )
Author: cameroncrazed
Rating: R
Warning: pegging (very mild, I promise)
Disclaimer: Not mine. I’m playing in someone else’s sandbox. Sorry about that.
Notes: A giant thank you to ladyanne525 for being a truly awesome beta! Y’all should all thank her for making me write something coherent ;) Written for prompt #3: dressed in drag for the Ridiculously Specific prompt table. Inspiration comes from “Laid” (James). There's a hint as to what I'm working on for my next story, if you can find it ;)
“Dr. Greene, your three-thirty’s here.” The secretary’s voice drops. “It’s them, again,” the obviously spooked girl whispers.
Sharon Greene immediately grabs the small bottle of aspirin she hides in her desk, and grimacing, dry swallows three of them. It’s not enough to deal with the headache she knows is imminent, but it makes her feel better that she’s being proactive with the problem. Of course, if she really wanted to be proactive, she’d drop the couple from her practice, but she has high hopes that they’re on the edge of a breakthrough, and they’ll either live happily ever after or divorce - either way, they wouldn’t be her problem anymore. “Let them in.”
“If you say so.” The secretary sounds dubious.
Claire flounces in first, quickly stretching out across the couch. Her husband stomps in after her, and after Claire glares and kicks at him, refusing to give up a scant nanometer of sofa space, he takes the small uncomfortable chair.
Sharon sighs. “Mrs. Gray, if you would please…” She waves her hand towards the couch. “How am I supposed to help you with your togetherness with you two sitting on opposite sides of the room?”
“He can sit here when he apologizes.” Claire moves her legs slightly, then glares at Sylar.
“And I’ll apologize when hell freezes over.” He spits out.
“Or you can apologize now, and we can discuss why you’re here?” Sharon suggests as she discreetly sends an email to her secretary to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day; they’re obviously in a fighting mood, which means they’re going to be cluttering her office for a few hours.
“We’re here because my family insists we get counseling or sing kumbaya or some sort of togetherness crap. By the way, my dad wanted me to ask you if you were free Saturday.”
Great. Nathan ‘Delusions of Grandeur’ Petrelli. Sharon wonders if he wants another therapy session or a date. “I’ll call him tomorrow. Now, what’s the problem this time?”
“He’s mad at me because he thinks I spend too much time with Peter, and he refuses to give me sex.”
“One, I’m not mad because she spends time with Peter, I’m mad because I think they’re sleeping together.” Sylar yells back. “And two, we’re not discussing our sex life.”
“That’s because we don’t have one. P.S. You’re delusional! D. E. L…” Claire starts to retort.
“Claire! That’s enough!” Sharon hates having to be the one to break up their fights, but if they don’t get on topic soon, nothing will ever get accomplished in this session.
“Oh, I wish you hadn’t have done that.” Sylar pouts. “I wanted to see if she could actually spell the entire word. I doubt it.”
Claire quickly replies. “Fuck you.”
Sylar continues on like she hadn’t spoken. “Okay then, putting aside the fact that my loving wife may or may not be sleeping with her creepy uncle, I’m not sleeping with someone who flavors my coffee with rat poison and tries to kill me with the kitchen knives we got as a wedding gift.”
Sharon makes a note on their rather lengthy file; it might be time to make an anonymous tip to the cops. Again.
“Only because you’ve learned about the secret recipe chai, darling. Besides, I thought that the woman was supposed to be the one who gets pouty and turned off.” Claire crosses her arms over her chest.
“You know,” Sharon interrupts, “divorce isn’t always a bad thing.”
“Not happening.” Sylar immediately dismisses the idea. “And since when have you ever taken the feminine role in this relationship, Claire? I clean, you smoke cigars; I cook our dinners, and you try to kill yourself racing motorcycles.”
Fascinating. They’ve never revealed their gender role issues before. Sharon’s excited; maybe they really will make their breakthrough this session. “How does that make you feel, Sylar?”
He looks at her like she’s the dumbest individual he’s ever met. “Pissed off. How do you think I feel about damned motor oil soaked into the carpet? I’ve spent days scrubbing it, and it still won’t come out.”
Claire laughs, and Sharon chastises her. “It’s not funny, Claire. Maybe the gender reversement is the problem?”
“I put the oil there on purpose, dumbass.” She smirks at Sylar. “I do so love seeing you on your knees, ass up in the air, shaking it back and forth as you scrub.”
Oh. Sharon makes another note on the file as they continue to bicker. Finally, after an hour and several rounds of online sudoku, she interrupts them. “Well, obviously we had a lot to discuss today.”
They stop arguing long enough to glare at her.
“I have to be honest with you two; I don’t think you’re getting much out of our sessions. Quite frankly, you’re dysfunctional.”
“With a capital DYS.” Claire remarks.
“Also a capital FUN,” Sylar grins, “you can’t forget the fun.”
Sharon’s glad they can work as a team when it suits them, but wishes that they could do that when they didn’t have a common enemy. “Honestly, I don’t see the need for you to come back for more sessions. I can give you the numbers of some really good divorce lawyers or an excellent sex therapist, but that’s all the help I can provide.”
“Dear, I do believe our therapist is dumping us.” Claire pouts as she stands up, holding out her hand to Sylar.
He takes it, and frowns too. “I think you’re supposed to tell us that it’s not us, that it’s you.”
“I’m not dumping you!” Sharon has to take a deep breath. “I’m not. I just think that you have issues that I can’t help you with. Call the sex guy. I think he’ll really help.”
The Grays exchange dubious looks. Sylar’s the one who speaks up. “Not happening.”
She really wishes that she had a bottle of liquor in her office. “Okay, well, not that you’re going to follow any of my advice, but go home, talk, maybe explore some of those reversed gender roles. Buy some fun toys, try a strap-on, go for a romantic getaway, do whatever you want to. Go wild. Now, get out of my office.”
- - - - - - - - - -
They hold hands as they slip into the store, Claire giggling nervously. “I don’t know about this…”
It’s the first time she’s acted remotely innocent or girlish in years. He finds it endearing, and he squeezes her hand as he leads her over to the appropriate aisle. Both of their eyes go wide as they take in the selection, and Sylar starts to have serious doubts about what he’s agreed to try. “Claire…” Before he can tell her that they’re leaving, she spots something at the end of the aisle, and drags him over to look at it.
“Ooooh!” She coos as she holds up the package for him to look at. “It’s green!”
“It’s huge.” No way, no how is he letting her get anywhere near him with that monster. He reminds himself that it’s just a toy, it’s not real, and it’s not a mark against him if it just happens to be twice as large as he is.
She carries on as if she hadn’t heard him. “It’s glittery!”
He can’t believe she thinks glitter is a positive thing about a dildo. “It’s monstrous.” His hands casually fall behind him, as if they could protect him against the thing in Claire’s hands.
“I love it! Let’s get it.”
“Oh, hell no. Why don’t we just get you a nice clit vibe instead, or some fuzzy handcuffs?”
“I’ll use lube, honey. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t taken things up the ass before, is it? Now, let’s get you something cute to wear.” She smiles at him, and it only has a hint of a smirk to it. “Besides, if you let me do this, then I’ll let you do that thing that you’ve been wanting to do.”
Eyeing the dildo again, Sylar has to admit that maybe it’s not that big after all. He tosses the green monster in the basket, and pulls her over to the lingerie section with a smile on his face. He just hopes that they have a cheerleading outfit in his size.
- - - - - - - - - -
“This is officially bizarre.” Claire yells at him from their bedroom.
He knows. Looking in the foyer mirror, he wonders for the tenth time how she managed to talk him into this. The skirt isn’t too bad, a bit on the short side, but the bra band is too small and his makeup is atrocious. The shoes were obviously made by a sadist, and he can’t help but worry that they make him look a bit like a drag queen.
“Ready or not, here I come!” Claire dramatically flings open the door, and immediately starts laughing. Sylar scowls as he jerks the wig off; he should have known that it looked ridiculous.
“Oh, don’t worry, babe, you look edible.” She coos at him. “How do I look?”
“What are you supposed to be dressed as?” He tilts his head to the side, trying to decide if she’s supposed to be a villain or an extra from the latest Harry Potter movie; either way, head-to-toe body-concealing black isn’t a turn-on. “What are you wearing?”
“Don’t you like it? I’m dressed up as you!” She saunters over to him, and pushes him down on the couch before massaging his shoulders. Reaching up towards the ceiling, he lets her pull the uniform sweater over his head; she tosses it out of the way, and for once, he doesn’t care that she’s throwing clothes on the floor.
“I never wore that.” He knows a fact that he’s never even owned anything so ludicrous. She works out a knot in his shoulder, and he moans in appreciation.
“Poetic license, babe.” Seeing the look he gives her, Claire sighs. “Okay, so I stole it out of Peter’s closet. Happy now? But in my defense, all really great villains wear ominous black trench coats and you just didn’t have the good sense to do the same, so I had to make due. Now, are you ready for this?” She pushes the voluminous trench aside to showcase her holster and new green toy.
“It looks like a sparkling swamp monster’s attached itself to your clit.” He answers dryly.
She looks down at it, and laughs. “I still look better than you do.” As she unfastens the buttons on the coat, she bends over to kiss him.
He growls, and pulls her closer to him. The toy feels odd, pressed in between them and rubbing against his own cock, but not too alien. Falling onto his back, he yanks her onto the coach before rolling them sideways so that they’re reclining on the cushions.
“No, Sylar.” Claire pushes at him softly, and he realizes that she’s supposed to be the one taking the lead.
He lets her flip them over so that he’s on his back, and he’s rewarded when she slithers down his body, focusing her attention elsewhere as she pushes up his skirt and nuzzles against the tender skin at the base of his groin. He’s so lost in the feel of her mouth wrapped around him that he barely notices when she starts playing with his balls and running a fingernail lightly along his perineum.
Her mouth pulls off of him with a loud pop that sounds obscene even to him, but his disappointment is quickly forgotten when she reaches across his body to grab the bottle of lube off their nightstand.
“Do you still want to?” She whispers as she pops the lid open, squeezing some of the substance onto her fingers. His mouth is so dry, he can’t do anything other than nod yes, and she rewards him with another kiss. “Roll over,” she commands, and he willingly obeys, resting his head against the back of the sofa as he gets on his hands and knees. Knowing how she likes his floor-scrubbing moves, he teases her with a quick shimmy.
“Oh, baby, shake it.” They both laugh, and any nervous tension is gone.
Her fingers are cool, but she goes slowly, and as she lines up with her cock with his entrance, it’s all he can do to keep from whimpering with need. They both gasp when she slides all the way in.
Tentative at first, she quickly starts moving faster. Really getting into character, she smacks him across the ass. “How do you like me now, cheerleader? Huh?”
Sylar’s glad she can’t see him roll his eyes. When he’d told her to talk dirty, he hadn’t meant like that. “Oh, you’re so scary, I’m terrified,” he deadpans.
She smacks him again. “Sylar, behave. Now, scream for me cheerleader.”
He can’t help himself; hysterical laughter bubbles out of his mouth.
“I said, scream for me cheerleader!” She changes her angle, and he suddenly feels pressure against his prostate, and he’s seeing stars. She hits the spot again, and he can’t stop himself from yelling in ecstasy.
- - - - - - - - - -
With a bounce in his step, Peter hops off the elevator and heads down the hallway leading to Sylar and Claire’s apartment. He hopes they like the surprise he has for them, he thinks; after a rough day in therapy, he knows they’re going to need the gallon of Ben and Jerry’s that he’s so graciously bought them.
Before he can reach the apartment, though, a terrible bellow rings through the air. Peter drops the ice cream immediately, crouching down in a defensive manner. Sylar. Sylar - and thus, Claire - must be in trouble! He wonders what sort of horrible atrocity or villain could make Sylar scream like that, and he knows that they’re going to need his help. Pulling up Mohinder’s strength, Peter sprints down the hallway and crashes through the door.
“I’m here to save the…. GAH!” His eyes, his poor innocent eyes were never meant to see such a sight. Those hairy legs, that short and sassy little red cheerleading skirt, that dick… He screams again when he sees Claire standing behind Sylar, clad only in a trench coat that looks vaguely familiar. “I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know… sorry I interrupted.”
Claire moves away from Sylar, and Sylar yelps again before doing something completely disgustingly male, it’s only then that Peter realizes exactly what he’d interrupted. As Claire steps towards him, green dildo bobbing in the air, he formulates a plan. He reaches out and grabs her wrist, quickly taking her power, then sprints towards their master bathroom.
As he starts rummaging through their assortment of accoutrements, he mentally blesses Sylar for his obsessive clean-freak nature - he knows of no other home where he’d find the bleach so easily.
“Peter, don’t be so dramatic.” Claire lectures at him while he fumbles with the cap on the bottle. “It’s just sex. Okay, so it was kinda kinky sex and you saw me pegging Sylar with a bright green dildo that we’ve nicknamed the Swamp Monster while he was dressed up in a replica of my old uniform, but still… it’s just sex.”
The cap breaks in pieces when he rams his fist against it.
“Don’t be such a child, Peter.”
He doesn’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. The bleach does nothing for the mental images still running through his head.
- - - - - - - - - -
“You know,” Sylar states over the high-pitched screams, “I take back what I said at therapy today. About you and Peter.” He sits down at the table and kicks the other chair out into the middle of the floor.
“Oh?” Claire tightens the belt of the trench coat and steps out into the hallway, grabbing the forgotten ice cream and waving at a startled neighbor. “What changed your mind?” she asks as soon as she steps back into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. She hands him the ice cream, and goes to grab two spoons out of the silverware drawer.
“My eyes! My eyes! Aaaaaahhhhhh!” Peter runs through the middle of their kitchen, tripping over the conveniently placed chair. He opens one eye to look at what he’d fallen over, and spotting Sylar still in the semen-spattered skirt and bra and the green monster on the table, starts squealing like a traumatized Girl Scout again.
“Let’s just say that I think he probably wouldn’t be able to handle you.” Sylar pulls his wife onto his lap, arms wrapped loosely around her.
“Yeah, I do like someone a bit more mature.” They both watch as Peter continues to run around, this time getting tripped up in Sylar’s discarded sweater. “You know what, that doctor might not be a quack after all. That idea of hers has really helped us. Do you want me to make another appointment?”
Sylar shrugs. “Sure. Two or three times a week sounds reasonable.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Somewhere across town, Sharon Greene awakes from a deep sleep, screaming. The man sharing her bed immediately jumps up, on alert. “What, what is it?” He yells as he tries to jump into his pants.
“Nothing.” Her heart is racing a mile a minute. “Must have been a bad dream. It just seemed so real. Spooky.” She shivers, then chastizes herself for being scared of a manifestation of her own subconscious via various neural pathways and neurotransmitters; it’s not possible that she actually dreamed the future, she knows that for certain.
Nathan just shrugs, and drops his pants again. “Well then, since we’re awake anyway…”
- - - - - - - - - -
And they all had a good night ;)
(Well, except for Peter ;) )