Heroes: "Auld Lang Syne" (Sylaire, NC-17)
Title: Auld Lang Syne
Author: airspaniel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 1570
Spoilers: none, really. S1 to be safe
Warnings: unrepentant porn, bloodplay, snuff, disrespect for elders
Notes: Written for freetheelves2 for a meme she posted. She commanded me to write Sylaire with the prompt New Years Eve. Was supposed to just be a comment fic, but this, uh... this kinda got out of hand. ^^;;
Summary: Happy New Year, Claire.
Claire leaned heavily on the stone balcony of the penthouse and took a deep breath. It felt so good to be away from the people inside, stuffy old women with fat pocketbooks, and stuffier old men in tuxes who stared openly at her breasts when she talked to them.
She hated political functions, and every party the Petrellis hosted was a political function. Even New Years Eve. But she had to smile and laugh and be gracious, and more than anything she had to control her impulse to slit her own wrists against the giant swan ice sculpture on the banquet table. She laughed softly to herself. That would almost be worth it just to see how the moneybags would react.
"What's so funny?" a dark brown voice purred from the shadows. Sylar. She turned her head toward the sound.
"Thinking about killing myself," she smirked. "Seems like a pretty good idea."
"Now that would be a shame." He came closer, still shrouded in the shadow of the ivy, black on black. "Why kill yourself when I'm perfectly happy to do it for you?"
Laughing, she rose to meet him, halfheartedly making sure they were alone on the terrace. "My hero."
The gold satin of her dress shimmered in the ambient light from the banquet hall, shining and radiant and everything he wasn't. She slipped into the shadows with him, pressing him gently back against the wall.
"Of course, you haven't been doing a very good job at it. I should have been dead a long time ago." Her perfectly glossed mouth reached up towards his, lips lightly brushing against his as she spoke. "Should have been lying on the floor of the locker room like Jackie." Brush. "Or Isaac." Brush. Her voice was barely a whisper now. "Or Ted."
His eyes closed at the feather light touches, his lips parted, breathing her essence deeply with every word she spoke. He was tensed, waiting to pounce, waiting for the right moment. How far would she take it this time?
A soft pink tongue flicked out to quickly taste his lower lip, and his breath caught. "If you wanted to kill me, I'd be dead already. Bleeding out right here on this cold marble floor." She ran her mouth along his jawline, that maddening tongue licking small wet trails up his lightly-stubbled neck. He couldn't stifle a gasp as sharp teeth nibbled at his earlobe, a breath of a whisper following to cool his overheated skin.
"I guess you don't just want me for my brain."
The tension in him snapped, and he spun her around, crushing her against the wall and holding her there with his own body. She yelped in surprise, breath coming in harsh pants, full breasts heaving under satin. A million miles away, the crowd in the ballroom began to count down in unison
Ten.
Nine.
His voice was little more than a growl in her ear. “You are playing with fire, little girl.” He thrust his hips into her and she moaned, feeling his arousal against her lower belly.
Eight.
Seven.
Claire arched into the contact, digging her nails into Sylar’s back, keeping their bodies together.
Six.
Five.
“So do something about it,” she panted, breathless and wanton.
Four.
Three.
“Wait for it.”
Two.
“Sylar, please.”
One.
He kissed her fiercely, inelegantly, devouring her cherry-red lips and plundering her mouth with his tongue. She kissed back just as forcefully, aching and desperate. His hands buried themselves in her golden blonde hair; invisible hands tugged at her zipper, easing it down, peeling away the tight evening dress. She stepped out of it; stepped into him, small hands yanking the black coat from his shoulders, pulling his shirt up, hungry to feel his skin against hers.
He pressed his hand against her mouth, leaning in to whisper harshly in her ear.
“Don’t scream.”
She licked the palm against her lips, savoring the taste of his sweat, as he kissed the light bronze junction of her neck and shoulder almost reverently.
Then he bit down, and she had to bite his hand to keep from screaming. It hurt, oh god it hurt so much, and she could feel blood trickling down her chest, tiny rivulets of crimson running over her breasts. She could taste his blood in her mouth, but couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to.
And then, nothing but absolute pleasure as the flat of his tongue caressed the healing wound. He followed the trails down her chest, licking them away, seizing one stiff pink nipple between his teeth.
She writhed and moaned around his hand, licking the bite marks she had made, cleansing all traces of his blood with her tongue; chasing it into the tight spaces between his fingers. He made a noise deep in his throat and shifted his hand, pressing two fingers into her mouth. She hummed around them, sucking hard, angelic lips stained red with lipstick and blood.
This had gone on long enough.
In an instant his pants were open, her long sun-kissed legs wrapped tightly around his back, her back tight against the wall. She threaded her fingers through his hair, hands shaking. Her voice was deep with lust.
“Take me, Sylar… Oh god, take me please!”
He thrust up violently, giving her no time to adjust. She made hurt little mewling noises, rhythmic with his movements. When those sounds turned to open-mouthed gasps of pleasure, he had to apply telekinetic pressure to the base of his cock to keep from losing it.
This wasn’t going to last much longer for either of them. She was so hot and wet and wanting, her hips grinding down against him, needing it as hard and fast as he could give it to her.
He knew she could take it; knew she was probably the only person who could. His strong fingers dug hard into her hips, leaving bruises that faded as soon as they were made, as he slammed her into the wall. Her golden curls tangled with the dark green ivy on the wall, and when her desire-darkened eyes met his, he shivered. She looked like a nymph, a wild animal, some exotic, beautiful creature of sex and destruction.
She was close now, so close. He reached out with his mind and teased her clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.
She came hard, and he had to kiss her; had to swallow the primal scream that tore itself from her throat. Her body clenched around him and he followed, moaning around her tongue as he shuddered his release.
“Oh… oh god.” Claire panted incoherently, still riding the high of her orgasm. She hissed when he withdrew, a little sore, a little disappointed at feeling so empty again.
He leaned into her, resting their foreheads against each other as they struggled for breath. His hands came up to caress her face, so gentle and loving, such a contrast with the way he had just had her. She sighed happily. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close, kissing the top of her head tenderly.
“Happy New Year, Claire.”
He twisted his hands sharply, suddenly, snapping her neck. Her lifeless body went ragdoll, falling limply to the cold hard ground. He stared at her corpse absently, mind already working to replace his clothes. Hers too. After all, he didn’t want to embarrass her in front of all these people.
Sylar laughed and disappeared into the night.
-----
“Claire? You out here?” Peter’s worried voice floated through the open door.
She sat up, groaning a little, trying to ease the stiffness in her back and neck. Sylar was gone; she knew he would be. But she also knew he’d find her again. She closed her eyes and smiled. Whispering softly, knowing he could still hear her, she breathed his name.
“Over here, Peter!” she called cheerily, leaning against the wall.
He ran to her side, every bit the protective nurse. “Claire! Are you okay?” He knelt down beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She was annoyed by the touch, but let it go. “I’m fine. I… I think I just drank too much, y’know?”
He brushed a hand against the corner of her mouth and she gasped, still feeling hypersensitive. His hand came away, a tiny smear of blood on his index finger.
Sylar’s blood. She shivered.
Peter’s gaze was all love and concern. “You were bleeding.”
Claire wanted to laugh. “I must’ve just bit my lip or something. No big deal.” He offered his hand and she took it, standing up on slightly shaky legs. “Is the party over?”
He smiled at her. “Only about two hours ago. You know these bluehairs; go to bed as soon as the countdown is done.”
She returned the smile. “Sorry I missed it.”
“No, you’re not,” he laughed. “Believe me, you’re not.”
Yawning theatrically, she stretched her arms above her head. “Well, I sure could go to bed now. I’m worn out!”
Another warm smile, and his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his side affectionately. “All right, kiddo. It’s been a long night.”
She let him lead her back inside, through the decadent French doors. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, and she was sure she heard a dark velvet laugh behind her.
She turned around and smiled at the empty blackness.
Next time…
Author: airspaniel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 1570
Spoilers: none, really. S1 to be safe
Warnings: unrepentant porn, bloodplay, snuff, disrespect for elders
Notes: Written for freetheelves2 for a meme she posted. She commanded me to write Sylaire with the prompt New Years Eve. Was supposed to just be a comment fic, but this, uh... this kinda got out of hand. ^^;;
Summary: Happy New Year, Claire.
Claire leaned heavily on the stone balcony of the penthouse and took a deep breath. It felt so good to be away from the people inside, stuffy old women with fat pocketbooks, and stuffier old men in tuxes who stared openly at her breasts when she talked to them.
She hated political functions, and every party the Petrellis hosted was a political function. Even New Years Eve. But she had to smile and laugh and be gracious, and more than anything she had to control her impulse to slit her own wrists against the giant swan ice sculpture on the banquet table. She laughed softly to herself. That would almost be worth it just to see how the moneybags would react.
"What's so funny?" a dark brown voice purred from the shadows. Sylar. She turned her head toward the sound.
"Thinking about killing myself," she smirked. "Seems like a pretty good idea."
"Now that would be a shame." He came closer, still shrouded in the shadow of the ivy, black on black. "Why kill yourself when I'm perfectly happy to do it for you?"
Laughing, she rose to meet him, halfheartedly making sure they were alone on the terrace. "My hero."
The gold satin of her dress shimmered in the ambient light from the banquet hall, shining and radiant and everything he wasn't. She slipped into the shadows with him, pressing him gently back against the wall.
"Of course, you haven't been doing a very good job at it. I should have been dead a long time ago." Her perfectly glossed mouth reached up towards his, lips lightly brushing against his as she spoke. "Should have been lying on the floor of the locker room like Jackie." Brush. "Or Isaac." Brush. Her voice was barely a whisper now. "Or Ted."
His eyes closed at the feather light touches, his lips parted, breathing her essence deeply with every word she spoke. He was tensed, waiting to pounce, waiting for the right moment. How far would she take it this time?
A soft pink tongue flicked out to quickly taste his lower lip, and his breath caught. "If you wanted to kill me, I'd be dead already. Bleeding out right here on this cold marble floor." She ran her mouth along his jawline, that maddening tongue licking small wet trails up his lightly-stubbled neck. He couldn't stifle a gasp as sharp teeth nibbled at his earlobe, a breath of a whisper following to cool his overheated skin.
"I guess you don't just want me for my brain."
The tension in him snapped, and he spun her around, crushing her against the wall and holding her there with his own body. She yelped in surprise, breath coming in harsh pants, full breasts heaving under satin. A million miles away, the crowd in the ballroom began to count down in unison
Ten.
Nine.
His voice was little more than a growl in her ear. “You are playing with fire, little girl.” He thrust his hips into her and she moaned, feeling his arousal against her lower belly.
Eight.
Seven.
Claire arched into the contact, digging her nails into Sylar’s back, keeping their bodies together.
Six.
Five.
“So do something about it,” she panted, breathless and wanton.
Four.
Three.
“Wait for it.”
Two.
“Sylar, please.”
One.
He kissed her fiercely, inelegantly, devouring her cherry-red lips and plundering her mouth with his tongue. She kissed back just as forcefully, aching and desperate. His hands buried themselves in her golden blonde hair; invisible hands tugged at her zipper, easing it down, peeling away the tight evening dress. She stepped out of it; stepped into him, small hands yanking the black coat from his shoulders, pulling his shirt up, hungry to feel his skin against hers.
He pressed his hand against her mouth, leaning in to whisper harshly in her ear.
“Don’t scream.”
She licked the palm against her lips, savoring the taste of his sweat, as he kissed the light bronze junction of her neck and shoulder almost reverently.
Then he bit down, and she had to bite his hand to keep from screaming. It hurt, oh god it hurt so much, and she could feel blood trickling down her chest, tiny rivulets of crimson running over her breasts. She could taste his blood in her mouth, but couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to.
And then, nothing but absolute pleasure as the flat of his tongue caressed the healing wound. He followed the trails down her chest, licking them away, seizing one stiff pink nipple between his teeth.
She writhed and moaned around his hand, licking the bite marks she had made, cleansing all traces of his blood with her tongue; chasing it into the tight spaces between his fingers. He made a noise deep in his throat and shifted his hand, pressing two fingers into her mouth. She hummed around them, sucking hard, angelic lips stained red with lipstick and blood.
This had gone on long enough.
In an instant his pants were open, her long sun-kissed legs wrapped tightly around his back, her back tight against the wall. She threaded her fingers through his hair, hands shaking. Her voice was deep with lust.
“Take me, Sylar… Oh god, take me please!”
He thrust up violently, giving her no time to adjust. She made hurt little mewling noises, rhythmic with his movements. When those sounds turned to open-mouthed gasps of pleasure, he had to apply telekinetic pressure to the base of his cock to keep from losing it.
This wasn’t going to last much longer for either of them. She was so hot and wet and wanting, her hips grinding down against him, needing it as hard and fast as he could give it to her.
He knew she could take it; knew she was probably the only person who could. His strong fingers dug hard into her hips, leaving bruises that faded as soon as they were made, as he slammed her into the wall. Her golden curls tangled with the dark green ivy on the wall, and when her desire-darkened eyes met his, he shivered. She looked like a nymph, a wild animal, some exotic, beautiful creature of sex and destruction.
She was close now, so close. He reached out with his mind and teased her clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.
She came hard, and he had to kiss her; had to swallow the primal scream that tore itself from her throat. Her body clenched around him and he followed, moaning around her tongue as he shuddered his release.
“Oh… oh god.” Claire panted incoherently, still riding the high of her orgasm. She hissed when he withdrew, a little sore, a little disappointed at feeling so empty again.
He leaned into her, resting their foreheads against each other as they struggled for breath. His hands came up to caress her face, so gentle and loving, such a contrast with the way he had just had her. She sighed happily. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close, kissing the top of her head tenderly.
“Happy New Year, Claire.”
He twisted his hands sharply, suddenly, snapping her neck. Her lifeless body went ragdoll, falling limply to the cold hard ground. He stared at her corpse absently, mind already working to replace his clothes. Hers too. After all, he didn’t want to embarrass her in front of all these people.
Sylar laughed and disappeared into the night.
-----
“Claire? You out here?” Peter’s worried voice floated through the open door.
She sat up, groaning a little, trying to ease the stiffness in her back and neck. Sylar was gone; she knew he would be. But she also knew he’d find her again. She closed her eyes and smiled. Whispering softly, knowing he could still hear her, she breathed his name.
“Over here, Peter!” she called cheerily, leaning against the wall.
He ran to her side, every bit the protective nurse. “Claire! Are you okay?” He knelt down beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She was annoyed by the touch, but let it go. “I’m fine. I… I think I just drank too much, y’know?”
He brushed a hand against the corner of her mouth and she gasped, still feeling hypersensitive. His hand came away, a tiny smear of blood on his index finger.
Sylar’s blood. She shivered.
Peter’s gaze was all love and concern. “You were bleeding.”
Claire wanted to laugh. “I must’ve just bit my lip or something. No big deal.” He offered his hand and she took it, standing up on slightly shaky legs. “Is the party over?”
He smiled at her. “Only about two hours ago. You know these bluehairs; go to bed as soon as the countdown is done.”
She returned the smile. “Sorry I missed it.”
“No, you’re not,” he laughed. “Believe me, you’re not.”
Yawning theatrically, she stretched her arms above her head. “Well, I sure could go to bed now. I’m worn out!”
Another warm smile, and his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his side affectionately. “All right, kiddo. It’s been a long night.”
She let him lead her back inside, through the decadent French doors. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, and she was sure she heard a dark velvet laugh behind her.
She turned around and smiled at the empty blackness.
Next time…