Heroes fic: The Place Between Dreams And Waking
She dreams of his kiss and wakes up still feeling the pressure of his lips on hers. It’s torture of the worst kind. He’ll never kiss her when she’s awake and she’s not even supposed to want him to. They’re family - technically - and it’s the most screwed up thing Claire’s ever known.
She raises her fingertips to her mouth and tries to touch the feeling of her dream. She trails her middle finger against the seam of her smile and her skin tingles at the contact.
Claire closes her eyes and tries to fall back into the dream, grasping at wisps of sleep as they fade away from her.
They were sitting outside somewhere, she remembers vaguely, at a park...maybe there was a lake.
There was a wooden bench, she’s sure of that. They were sitting on it and facing each other. The arm of the bench dug into her lower back.
She tries to fill in the details - what she was wearing, what he was wearing, what they talked about - but it’s all a blur of love and want and laughter.
He told some stupid joke that she can’t remember and she lightly hit him on the arm. He smiled at her and that smile is the clearest detail in a dream that’s quickly fading.
She fills in missing bits of dialog for a conversation they never had.
"You look nice, Claire.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.”
She imagines scooting closer to him and resting a hand on his shoulder as she leans against the back of the bench. He was wearing a sweater, maybe, and she can feel the texture of wool underneath her palm.
“What are we going to do tonight?”
He brushes his hand down her bare arm before answering.
“Whatever you want.”
She laughs in delight and he leans in to kiss her. His lips slide across hers like they’ve done it a million times before and she turns to press him back against the bench. She slides one leg over one of his until she’s partially straddling him.
He laughs and the vibrations roll along her skin.
“Like being in charge, Claire?”
“Sometimes a girl needs to have control of her own life, Peter.”
If Claire can’t have control in her waking life, she’s certainly going to have it in her dreams and fantasies. Especially in her dreams. She can’t be blamed for the direction her thoughts go when she’s asleep.
If she keeps her eyes closed and doesn’t focus too much, she can pretend that she’s still asleep and this fantasy is just a continuation of dream. Just another weird dream about making out with Peter on a bench in a park. A really hot dream about making out with Peter on a bench.
“Your wish is my command.”
He grabs her hips as she presses him against the bench. Her hands go up to his hair and she reveals in the softness of it. It should be illegal to have hair that soft. Claire raises herself up on her knees until she’s positioned above him and Peter leans his head backwards to look up at her.
She remembers the way he smiled at her. In her dream and her attempt to recapture it, that slightly crooked smile seems so real that she wonders briefly if Peter picked up another ability she doesn’t know about. If he could visit her in her dreams…
“You’re beautiful.”
He whispers it gently and she wants to ask him to repeat it until she believes it, but she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek instead.
He grins and moves his head down so that he can kiss her collarbone.
Claire sighs in bed and moves her hand to touch the position that Peter’s dream lips occupy. She moves her fingertips in slow circles and imagines that it’s the path of his kisses.
When his lips move across her skin to her bare shoulder, her fingers trail in his wake.
He said beautiful, gorgeous things against her skin in the hours before waking, but the words have slipped away so Claire fills in the blanks.
“So long.”
He mumbles against her cheek and Claire forgets that the breath against her skin isn’t really there. She ignores that Peter’s lips will never touch her own. It was a long, wonderful dream and there’s no sense in letting it slip away before she’s really had the chance to enjoy it.
“Missed you. Miss you all the time.”
Her hand reaches over to stroke the pillow, but she lets herself feel Peter’s hair instead of soft cotton.
“I miss you too. Always.”
Claire sighs and hugs him on that bench in her dream. She clings to him tightly in a way that she never can, and can never even consider doing, once she’s awake. She kisses his cheek and forehead and lips. He clings to her as desperately as she does to him and kisses her back with a ferocity that astounds her, even though she knows it’s just a combination of her imagination and subconscious.
In her dream, she remembers, there were confessions of love and promises of forever. They were lovely, but idealistic. Now, though, Claire pushes forward in her fantasy because she can feel it slipping away. She craves the closeness and the passion that she will never get from him. She kisses him until it feels like an adventure, and forgets that she’s really lying in her bed alone.
Idealism is for the lucky few and Claire has to make do with what she’s got: stolen dream moments with a man she can never love in the harsh rays of daylight.
His hand, and her hand, slide under shirt hems to press against skin. The touch is thrilling and Claire wishes that it was real.
Peter’s other hand slides up to her neck and he draws her into a deep, heartbreaking kiss. Claire presses her hips against his on that dream bench and loses herself in the feel of him.
“Claire.”
He says her name against her lips and she knows that she would do anything to be with him, even beg.
“Peter, please…”
The shrill ring of her cell phone cuts off Claire’s half-formed request. She gropes for the phone on her nightstand and flips it open as she sits up in bed and drags her fingers through her hair.
“Hello?” she mutters, forcing open her eyes and trying to wake up, but wishing to god that she could go back to sleep.
“Claire?”
His low voice runs though her and Claire’s hand raises automatically to touch her lips.
“Peter?” she questions.
Her voice comes out husky and seductive, and it’s not at all how she meant to say his name.
“I woke you up,” he says.
It’s a statement, not a question. She nods before remembering he can’t see her.
“Just dreaming,” she replies before she can censor herself.
“Anything interesting?”
Claire thinks about the park bench, cool breeze, and green grass. She remembers passionate kisses and declarations of love. In an ideal world she would tell him all about it.
Unfortunately, the world she lives in is anything but ideal and Peter can never know how she feels about him.
“No,” she finally replies in answer to his question. “Just a beautiful day at the park.”
“God,” he sighs, “It’s been forever since I’ve been a park. Living in New York is all buildings and concrete.”
“There is Central Park,” Claire teases. “You know, that big area with all the grass.”
Peter laughs and Claire has a flash of green and wood and soft wool sweaters.
“Maybe we should go there some afternoon,” Peter suggests, “before it gets too cold.”
“I’d like that.”
The conversation transitions to family dinners and stupid political fundraisers and ideas for Simon’s birthday. Claire listens halfway and leans against the headboard of her bed. She makes a few comments here and there, but mostly finds herself lulled by the sound of Peter’s voice. She thinks about the promised afternoon in Central Park and lets her mind wander, for once without self-reprimand, to the fantasy of a happy ending.
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A/N: Comments are greatly appreciated!