The Walls Have Ears
The Walls Have Ears
She knew that it wasn’t the best apartment building in all of New York when she moved in, but it wasn’t the worst either. The walls were thin, the kitchen faucet leaked, and on particularly cold windy nights, the apartment was freezing cold. It was the best that she could afford, so she knew that she’d just have to learn to deal with the problems. Really, it wasn’t that bad - it was relatively clean, there weren’t any vermin, and the neighbors were quiet for the most part. The plus side to the apartment was the cheap rent, the proximity to her job, and the proximity to the drop-dead gorgeous man living in the apartment next to her. He was too good for her, she was sure, but that didn’t stop her from wanting him.
He was the quiet sort, kept to himself, never brought a woman home with him. Oh, not to get the wrong impression - he never brought a man home, either. He was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and insanely handsome. Just her type.
She’d tried repeatedly to introduce herself to him, but her approaches always failed. Once, when they were riding in the elevator together, she’d introduced herself, held out her hand for him to shake. He just glared at her. She wasn’t discouraged. When she baked a cake and left it on his doorstep, he responded by pinning a note to her door with a butcher knife. She ignored the terse command of “Leave me the fuck alone.” He was obviously not a cake guy - she’d made her award-winning lemon pie the next time. The “leave me alone” note in response was written in dark red ink - if she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed that it was written in blood. She’d tried knocking at his door at midnight, wearing just her lingerie, to “borrow a cup of sugar”. He had immediately slammed the door in her face.
She listened carefully against all the walls that she had in common with him, trying to figure out the layout of his apartment. She’d finally figured out which room he was using as his bedroom, and she’d moved her bed to the corresponding room in her apartment. While he might not be sleeping with her, she felt that by sleeping right up against his bedroom wall that it was as close as she could get for the time being. She never failed to get a great night’s sleep when she knew that all that separated them was a few inches of wooden beams and sheetrock.
He’d disappear for weeks at a time. It was a bit odd, but she assumed it was for work. She couldn’t sleep well the nights he was gone. He’d always come back with a giant grin on his face and a bounce in his step. The unusual perkiness would fade in a day or two, and he’d go back to the brooding miser that she adored.
For the last two weeks, he’d been gone again. She was expecting him back sometime that night or the next. He’d never have to know that she spent the entire evening watching out her window, looking for that cab that would bring him safely back to her.
It was a little past ten when the cab pulled up to the door of their apartment. He was home! She couldn’t help but grin when she saw his dark hair appear as he stepped from the cab. He turned around to face the cab interior, and reached his arm inside. She assumed he was going to remove his suitcase, but a young blonde woman emerged instead. The woman frowned. Surely the blonde wasn’t with him. Maybe they just shared a cab. Yes, that had to be it. A bit strange that the man held her hand as he led her into the building, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. Yet.
A few minutes later, and she could hear the door in his apartment open. Bubbly laughter in response to the man’s low baritone let her know that he had brought the blonde home with him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this fact.
She could hear them as they walked through the apartment. She rushes into her own bedroom as soon as she realized that’s where they were headed. The paper-thin walls let her hear every word, every moan, every grunt as she imagines that the man was slowly stripping the blonde of her dress. Leaning up against the wall, she starts unbuttoning her own shirt, imagining that the man was undressing her instead. That it was her ear that he was moaning in. That it was her that made him make that particular sound. She wondered what exactly the blonde was doing to him to make him yelp like that. A feminine giggle was abruptly cut off into a muffled “mmmph!”, and she imagines that he’s holding her head into place as she willingly takes him down her throat. That it’s her tongue licking the underside of his cock, that it’s her teeth that are lightly grazing over the sensitive head. As he comes, he beats his head against the wall, and the sound and the images in her head send her scrabbling to remove the rest of her clothes.
Another thud, and she soon realizes that the man has reversed their positions, and has slammed the blonde up against the wall. The blonde screams, and then a few seconds later, a rhythmic ‘thub - thub - thub’ starts a staccato beat that can be felt on the other side of the wall. The woman grabs her vibrator from her bedside table, and quickly slides it into herself. If he’s never going to fuck her, then she might as well take advantage of the one time that he’s fucking another woman this close to her. She times her strokes to his, and listens to his moans, grunts, and dirty words that he directs towards the blonde.
“Fuck, babydoll, you’re so tight. Oh God, Claire, do that again. Yes! You love having me fuck you, don’t you? God, babydoll, it’s so hot to watch my cock disappear into you. You fucking love it when I talk dirty to you as I take you against a wall, don’t you? You’re so hot, so dripping, and mine.” His voice has become a feral growl, and the rhythmic thumping increases in time as does the blonde’s pants and moans.
At this point, the woman only wishes that she could see what was going on as well. This was so much hotter than anything she’d seen on Pay-per-view. She increases the speed of the vibrator, and starts rubbing her clit too. She can tell that the blonde is close, and she wants to cum at the same time.
She can’t stop herself from moaning, from grunting, from whining out her pleasure just as the blonde starts screaming again. She isn’t surprised that she’s just had the best orgasm of her life, and that her body can’t stop trembling. She isn’t surprised that she’s just come as close as she possibly could to voyeurism, and that it’s the hottest, sexiest, dirtiest thing that she’s ever tried. She isn’t surprised that she still wants the dark-haired man just as badly as ever, but she is surprised that she kind of wants the blonde as well. She is beyond shocked, surprised, and embarrassed when she hears the next words the man utters.
“Oh, babydoll. Come again, come again for me. Don’t you get just as hot and bothered as I do to know that my neighbor’s been listening to me fuck you this entire time and that she’s cumming at just the thought of what we’re doing? You know you like being watched. Fuck, babydoll, I know you like it, I can feel your muscles tightening around me at just the thought of someone else getting off by listening to us. Why don’t you make a few more little helpless noises for her?” The rhythmic banging against the wall starts again, and the blonde starts screaming again.
- - - - - - - - - -
It was fun the first time, but after the fifth round the noise is just too much. The woman beats on the wall, yells at them to stop, but they continue. He must be fucking the Energizer Bunny; a normal woman could not take that much sex, that frequently. Every time she beats on the wall, he beats back and yells at her to join them again. She pulls the pillows over her head, trying to drown them out, but every time she does, they just get louder. A blanket goes over the pillows, but the sounds continue. All night, they continue. The next morning, there’s still noise coming out of that apartment. She kinda wants to see what’s happening now, not to satisfy her voyeurism, but to see if they’re still actually together or if they just taped it and are playing it back at full volume to mess with her head.
She gets no sleep for the next week, until the night that the man walks the blonde to the waiting cab, kisses her goodbye, and walks back into the building. She hears him going into his apartment, but there is no further noise. Peace, at last! She sleeps that night, deeply, soundly, but dreams of the blonde coming back and getting to listen to them again.
The next morning, when she opens her door to go to work, there’s a woman’s thong pinned to her door with another butcher knife. She instinctively knows that it’s the blonde’s underwear, and that she’s being warned. Warned of what, she’s not exactly sure. Nevertheless, she finds another apartment quickly. The next night finds her moving the very last box from her apartment.
At least she’d finally learned his name. All this time, and she had no clue who she was lusting after. Sylar. An interesting name, she’d never heard it before. Her last act as his neighbor is to slip a card under his door, addressed to Sylar and Claire, a flowery apology for any problems that she’s caused him and his girlfriend, an apology for invading their privacy, an apology that doesn’t address the fact that the blonde’s never going to get her thong back.