Captive (Fic, Peter/Claire)
Title: Captive
Recipient: lit_chick08 for the Valentine's Day Fic Exchange at heroes_exchange
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5102
Spoilers: Anything up to Season 3, Episode 14, "A Clear and Present Danger"
Warnings: Incest, Sexual Contact, Violence, Language
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or its characters; I make no money from the writing of this story.
Author's Notes: Betaed by wuhdemah. Claire is eighteen, not underage, Nathan is his usual self, and Peter is…well, you’ll see.
Summary: Peter and Claire are captured once again by Nathan Petrelli’s task force and placed together in a cell, and they get closer than they ever have before.
Senator Nathan Petrelli, in all his arrogant, complacent, expensively tailored glory, usually never dealt with the prisoners personally. He delegated those tasks to others whom he paid well for their services. However, he didn’t trust these two prisoners with anyone else; they were his family.
Such a shame he had been forced to do this, really.
His biological daughter Claire Bennet, with just her healing ability, had been easily subdued and shackled; his younger brother Peter, however, had necessitated further measures, and had been put down with a heavy tranquilizer. Nathan had explicitly instructed his people not to hurt him, but Peter had been quite difficult and combative and now he had a black eye and a broken arm as a result.
Nathan still wasn’t sure what had actually happened to Peter after he injected himself with the formula. Arthur Petrelli had been adamantly clear when he said he left nothing behind. Had Peter lied to him when he said all he could do was fly? Did he have some of his abilities back? He definitely didn’t have Nathan’s daughter’s ability, because Peter’s face was still bruised.
Better safe than sorry, little brother, Nathan thought, rubbing his thumb gently over the knuckles of Peter’s limp right hand. I didn’t want to do this to you. You should have just taken my side. You and Claire would have never been dragged into all this. You have only yourself to blame. Always wanting to be the hero.
Nathan was angry with his brother, disappointed in him, but it didn’t stop him from leaning over to give Peter a kiss on his forehead.
Claire saw this and couldn’t hold back her outrage any longer. She exclaimed, “Don’t touch him! How could you do this to us? You don’t love him, or me! You’re tearing your family apart! I’m surprised Angela’s not here right along with us! How can you live with yourself every day, knowing you’re imprisoning innocent people just because they’re different?”
Nathan sighed, mildly annoyed by Claire’s rant, and motioned for the guards to stop. He stepped towards his daughter and condescendingly caressed her cheek. Claire cringed and pulled away. “Don’t touch me either, you bastard,” she seethed.
Nathan said, “Claire, I don’t expect you to understand this, and I’m not going to even try to explain it to you. I told you to stay out of it. You wouldn’t listen. I gave you a way out, but you decided to take the wrong side. Keep your mouth shut or you’ll be strapped to a bed with a needle in your arm just like Peter. Understand that?”
Claire drew back and spit right in Nathan’s face. Nathan just laughed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, wiping Claire’s saliva from his face.
Without another word Nathan raised an arm and viciously backhanded her, knocking her clear off her feet and right on top of Peter. Claire tried to brace herself by throwing her shackled arms out in front of her, and she managed to grip Peter’s bare arm briefly before tumbling to the cold concrete floor. The guards steadied the gurney that carried the unconscious younger Petrelli before it tipped over, but the IV stand toppled and the needle tore from the back of Peter’s hand.
Nathan blew out a frustrated breath and commanded, “Someone take care of that right now.” The last thing he needed was another one of Peter’s small rebellions.
A guard pulled Claire to her feet, and one of the medically trained escorts went to work replacing Peter’s intravenous line. She refused to let Nathan see her cry, and she bit back her tears.
After a few more minutes of walking through the dark, silent hallways, past row after endless row of thick steel doors, another guard advanced briskly towards them and pulled Nathan Petrelli aside. Claire listened as well as she could.
“Mr. Petrelli, I’ve just been notified that there is only one free cell on this floor. Construction of the new holding area will not be completed until tomorrow evening.”
Nathan said, “Very well. Put them in together, and keep my brother under sedation so he won’t be a nuisance. He can be moved tomorrow when the new cellblock is completed.”
“Understood, Mr. Petrelli. Is there anything you require?”
“No, I believe that will be all. Thank you.”
Nathan accompanied them to the door of the last empty holding cell. The guards wheeled Peter inside to the far corner of the room, and then attached Claire’s restraints to the side of the room’s lone, uncomfortable cot.
Nathan said, “Try to get some sleep, Claire. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
The door slammed shut with a terrifying echo, and his ominous words scared her to her very core. Claire rested her head on her arms and gave in to her tears.
God, how she hated him. How could Peter have ever trusted him again after all the things he had done? How had she believed that Nathan Petrelli was a good man? How could he think he was doing the right thing holding his daughter and his brother against their will, locked up, their only crime having been born different?
Anger built within her, trumping her sadness, and she sobbed as loudly as she could, but no one who cared could hear her through four walls of reinforced concrete.
Now virtually exhausted, her mind clearing somewhat, Claire wondered if she had touched Peter long enough to transfer her healing ability over to him. She knew what she had seen when Dr. Mohinder Suresh and that intolerable Tracy Strauss had touched him. They had transferred their powers to him. It appeared that Peter could still gain abilities, although it happened a little differently now. If Peter could heal he could metabolize whatever it was they were drugging him with, and they might have a chance at escaping this bleak hell Nathan Petrelli had constructed for them.
Wake up, Peter. Wake up. Please.
The silence was so complete that Claire could hear the sound of her own heart beating and Peter’s soft, steady breathing. There was no other sound or movement from the far corner of the room, and Claire knew she had failed.
I tried, Peter, I tried the best I could.
She thought she might cry again, but she was too tired to even do that. She lay her head down, and even though the room was freezing cold sleep overcame her quickly.
***
Claire awoke, startled at first when she noticed she was no longer shivering with cold and not alone in her small, uncomfortable excuse for a bed. Peter Petrelli lay next to her, his warmth surrounding her. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, his chest pressed against her back, his breath soft against her cheek.
It had worked; she had transferred her power to him. Claire turned her head around to look at him, wondering if he was awake.
No.
He slept, probably still feeling the effects of the drugs they had given him. His eye was no longer bruised, and he had torn off the cast that had encased his formerly broken arm. He had somehow removed her shackles too.
Claire nudged him gently with her elbow and asked, “Peter? Can you hear me?”
“What?” he grumbled sleepily, his face buried in her golden-blonde hair.
“Wake up! We have to get out of here!”
Claire shifted around to face him, and he pulled her in so that her head lay against his chest.
“What’s the point? He’ll never stop. Nathan will just catch us again.”
Peter still had to be somewhat under the influence of whatever they had used to subdue him. He would never talk like this otherwise. There was no point in rushing him, though. She would most likely have to wait until he was completely alert. But the urgency of their situation could not be ignored. She had no way of telling how long she had slept; the guards could come at any minute to take Peter away, and without him any hope for their escape would be lost.
Claire said, shaking him, “What, are you just giving up? Now’s our only chance.”
“Chance for what?” Peter asked, his voice still drowsy, his eyes still half-closed.
“Chance to get the hell out of here, Peter. The only reason we’re in here together right now is that they didn’t have a cell for each of us. We have to hurry.” She slapped his cheek, trying to wake him fully, and Peter caught her hand in his, interlaced his fingers with hers, pressed his lips to her wrist.
“Are you sure that’s the only reason we’re here together, Claire?”
What nonsense was he talking? What the hell had they given him?
“Peter, you have to wake up. We don’t have a lot of time.” She pulled her hand back.
He slipped his hands underneath her shirt, ice-cold against her warm skin, and Claire’s body seized. Peter slid his right hand up her back, her side, her ribs, finally coming to rest on her breast.
With her ear pressed to his chest, she could hear Peter’s heart pick up speed.
“I can’t stop my brother, Claire. I know this now. After today, Nathan’s going to take you away from me forever,” Peter whispered, cupping his fingers around her gently.
Claire was finding it quite difficult to speak, but she managed, “Not if you help me get out of here.”
His thumb grazed over her nipple once, twice, and Claire’s flesh quickly responded to his touch, much as she fought against it.
Claire tried desperately not to think of Peter in this way, tried not to remind herself of how she had felt in Texas when that mysterious stranger had delivered her from certain death in her school auditorium. Peter had been ready to give up his life to save a random cheerleader to save the world, and the simple fact that someone had been willing to do that for her had enamored her completely. As it turned out, however, it wasn’t quite random at all. Peter Petrelli, her hero, her savior, was also her uncle. End of story. She had accepted that he was her family. So…what the hell was Peter doing?
She demanded, “Peter, what are you doing?”
Peter did not say anything right away. He kissed her neck, and the slight scratch of his facial hair brought gooseflesh to her skin.
Claire pushed his hand away and said, “Peter. Answer me.”
“I don’t want to run anymore. I don’t want to hide anymore, Claire.”
She had a feeling he meant from something more than just Nathan.
Nathan Petrelli, in her mind again, his words to Peter from one night long ago clear as if he spoke them right inside her head.
You saved the cheerleader, so we could save the world.
Did Nathan think he had redeemed himself by aborting the plot to destroy New York City when he grabbed hold of Peter and flew him off Kirby Plaza? And if so, how could he do this to his little brother now? Nathan had thrown his entire life away, his wife, his children, his ill-gotten Congressman appointment, when he was convinced that Peter had not survived his detonation over New York City. He had only pulled himself together when he realized Peter was alive, and that he had to save him once again, from the clutches of Adam Monroe and his nefarious plans to release the deadly Shanti virus.
Peter Petrelli always tried to save the world, but he was always the one who needed saving.
No different now. She couldn’t let Peter do this to her; she couldn’t let this happen.
Claire growled angrily and shoved Peter off her, off the bed completely, and he crashed to the floor. She bolted upright, and barely prevented herself from launching herself over the side so she could hit him. She knew she had gotten this short temper from her fathers, Noah Bennet and Nathan Petrelli both, but she just couldn’t stop herself from berating him.
“Peter, what the hell is wrong with you?” she cried.
After a minute, Peter pulled himself up and stared at her, a wounded look in his dark brown eyes. Her violent reaction had definitely cleared the rest of the fuzziness from his brain. “Why did you do that?” he asked, in abject disbelief.
“What? In case you can’t recall, I am your niece! Why would you even think to touch me like that?”
Peter whispered, “I--I thought--” Tears came to his eyes. “You don’t?”
Claire shook her head impatiently, unable to comprehend his question. “What, Peter? What are you asking me?”
Peter continued to stare at her, looking quite lost, and suddenly, Claire found him.
His face was an open book, its pages filled with a formerly foreign language that was perfectly understandable to her now. Now that she could read this deep, secret, tragic story, Claire tried not to see what he was telling her, what she had always known. The same story she held inside herself.
Tears of her own fell, tears of recognition, of regret.
“Oh, Peter…why now?”
Peter fell into her arms, and he moaned, “My brother ruined everything. I was afraid. Afraid I’d never be able to tell you…afraid you’d act just like this. It’s not fair. Why does the one person I love like this have to be my brother’s daughter?”
Claire didn’t know what to say, but she no longer had to worry about it when Peter’s mouth found hers, his tongue gently running along her lips, parting them, opening her to him like a flower to the morning sky. She felt their tears mix together as their cheeks touched, and Peter’s lips traced under her jaw line, below her ear, down her throat. He breathed faster, his kisses more demanding. “Please,” he murmured into her skin. “Please.”
He pulled her on top of him, and through his thin pants Claire could feel the forbidden, hard outline of him against her belly. Peter’s hands traveled beneath her shirt again, clasping his hands around her breasts, catching her nipples between his fingertips, and Claire shuddered under his treatment.
She shifted her body up on him until his erection was directly beneath her most sensitive place, and he pressed himself insistently and repeatedly into her, moaning softly. Claire almost couldn’t believe what was happening, and she was starting to want it just as badly as he did. Claire began to envision Peter less as her uncle and more as her lover…she could only imagine what it would be like to take him into her--
Claire breathed, “We can’t, Peter. We can’t do this right now. There could be a security camera--Nathan--he could be watching us! Remember? Your brother? My father?”
“I don’t care anymore, Claire. He doesn’t care about me. He’d probably want to kill me if he ever found out. I would die a happy man if you would give this to me, Claire. Tell me you will. Tell me anything, but don’t lie to me. I know you want to. I know you do. I love you, Claire.”
Peter’s low pleading tone of voice was casting a spell on her, and his hands were on her bare skin now, his fingers dancing delicately across her back, her shoulders, her arms. Where had her shirt gone? How was he doing this to her?
Claire looked down at her uncle, who was almost utterly consumed by his desire for her, barely able to hold himself back until he had the permission he sought. His eyes smoldered, almost black in the dim light, his too-long dark hair spread across the pillow, his lips slightly parted. He was beautiful, and hers if she wanted him.
And much as she shouldn’t, she did.
Somewhere deep inside them, locked away in a secret place in their hearts, they had always wanted each other this way, and they both knew it. She would be lying if she told him otherwise. Claire couldn’t bring herself to break his heart. They had been through so much, hurt so much, held back so much, kept captive by their emotions. Claire could finally free him, and herself, by giving this to him, accepting this from him.
Claire pushed herself up off him, and Peter sat up and leaned forward, stretching his arm out towards her, hooking it around her slender waist, catching her before she moved too far away.
“Do you want me, Claire?” he asked very simply.
Claire nodded. Peter pulled her back in towards him, and before she even could react, his hot, wet mouth closed over one of her nipples, his tongue working that tender nub of flesh to a hard knot, and with each graze of his teeth on her, shocks of excitement shot through her insides. Peter kissed her between her breasts, her heart pounding beneath, and he looked up at her, his gaze fixed on those pretty green eyes. She was beautiful, and she was finally his.
He pushed his hands into the back of her pants, and he grasped her buttocks, massaging them firmly, almost torturing her, his fingers skirting her inner thighs. Claire’s insides ached, and she could feel her own warmth virtually gushing out of her now. God, how she wanted him. If only he would move his hands, he would find out just how much. Peter’s lips wandered over to her other breast now, and he sucked harder at her skin, filling his mouth with as much of her as he could.
Claire impatiently wriggled out of her pants and Peter stood up, his hand finally moving around to the front of her, over her flat belly, down over her neat triangle of hair, two of his fingers then sliding deftly back and forth against her clit. He dipped a finger quickly inside her, a tease almost, and she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her lips.
“Oh, Claire,” he sighed, moving back up once again, his fingers completely slick with her desire.
There was something Claire was supposed to be telling him right now, but she could barely think. Peter had completely hijacked every one of her senses: all she could see was his dark eyes, like black holes, beautiful but dangerous, threatening to suck her in, and if they did, she would be lost forever. His tongue devoured her mouth, and the smell of him filled her nostrils, a sweet, musky, masculine scent that positively intoxicated her. All she could hear was her own heart beating a frenetic rhythm, and her nerves screamed with a need for him to touch her anywhere, everywhere.
“Oh, Peter--” Claire gasped, as two strong fingers entered her, a lot more forcefully this time, breaking her natural resistance entirely.
A brief flash of pain exploded inside her, and Claire cried out. She took a handful of his hair in one hand and with the other she raked her nails down his back hard enough to draw blood, and he moaned into her mouth in half-pain, half-pleasure. She bit down on his lower lip, tasting his blood, hot and coppery and arousing, sucking at the wound until it sealed under her lips. Then he bit her lip back, doing the same to her, and his fingers moved in and out of her faster.
Oh, my God, he started out so gentle…
Peter made a desperate, needful sound when she grasped hold of his cock through the thin cotton fabric of his pants, which really left nothing to the imagination; she could feel him throbbing under her grip. She ran the pad of her thumb beneath the head, and he jumped in her hand.
“Claire--touch me--please--” he gasped.
She reached in and took hold of him again, that sensitive flesh hot to her touch, and so unbelievably hard. Peter let out another guttural groan, and Claire knew she had to have him now, inside her now, right now.
Claire pushed down his pants and they dropped around Peter’s ankles. He kicked them away and breathed in her ear, his words mirroring her thoughts, “I’ve wanted you for so long…I can’t wait anymore.”
“Neither can I,” she moaned.
In a swift motion he lifted her in his arms, sat on the edge of the cot, and eased her down into his lap, his length sliding easily into her, filling her completely. Peter sucked in a shaking breath.
Claire thought she might have actually died and gone to heaven, if the mere fact that she was now fucking Peter Petrelli wasn’t enough to send her straight to hell. He held her above him, thrusting his hips upward, but she was so tight he couldn’t find the right rhythm, so he lifted her back up and laid her down on the bed. She gripped his shoulders and drew him down onto her, and Peter pushed himself inside her again.
He groaned, “Oh, my God. Claire--you didn’t tell me. Please tell me I’m not the first.”
“Yes, you are, Peter. You are. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else, no one but you,” Claire sighed, pulling him flush against her.
Peter moved slowly at first, and his body fit hers perfectly, inside and out, like he had been made just for her. She squeezed her arms around him, and was surprised at how light his skin was against her dark California tan, noticeable even beneath the low lighting.
“More, Peter. More,” Claire demanded, arching her body into him, trying to make him increase his momentum. She nibbled at his neck gently, nipped at his earlobe.
Peter’s body tensed, and he groaned, “You give me more…and I’ll give you more.” Claire knew what he wanted, knew what to do to incite his fervor.
She dug her fingernails into his back and shoulder, sucked and bit at his neck, and pulled his hair, twisting her fingers in it, and soon he drove himself into her relentlessly. It seemed like the more Claire tried to hurt him, the more intensely he enjoyed it, and in turn, the more he pleasured her as well. Again and again he thrust himself deeply into her, his breathing turned rapid and shallow, and he moaned, “You’re everything I ever wanted, Claire, everything, everything, Claire…”
This being her first time, she didn’t even know if she was anywhere near close to orgasm, every movement of him felt so wonderful, but she didn’t even care. She knew Peter was almost there, and he had wanted it so badly, needed it for so long. She wouldn’t make him wait. “Come on, Peter,” she panted. “Come on.”
Peter tangled his fingers in her long blonde hair and looked straight into her eyes as his orgasm took him, liquid heat spilling into her, the contractions of his lower body resonating within her, and she clenched around him, expelling a shaky sigh from her lungs. She came, the world dropping out from underneath her, flying, then falling. Claire held on to Peter, his solid, muscular body the only real thing in this crazy, spinning descent, pulling him impossibly deeper into her while wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her, breathing his name softly with each one. When it was over, she couldn’t stop the next words that came to her lips, a breathless, impulsive, yet truthful confession.
“I love you, Peter.”
“I knew you did. I always knew,” Peter said, trying to catch his own breath. “I used to be able to read minds, you know,“ he laughed, kissing her cheek.
Claire looked at him crossly, but there was no way she could be angry with him, not after making her feel like this, and she smiled shyly.
Peter kissed her once more, and raised himself up. He walked over to the gurney he had come in on, and tore off the sheet. He ripped a piece of it off and handed it to her so she could clean herself up.
“Shit,” Peter said, sitting down hard on the bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“What?”
“I didn’t--ah--pull out.”
Claire took in a sharp breath. Cold hard reality hit her full force: she had lost her virginity--unprotected--to her uncle. She had just introduced herself to a whole new world full of problems. She looked over at Peter, searching his face for some kind of reassurance, and the guilty look in Peter’s eyes almost crushed her.
Claire put her arms around him and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Listen, Peter, what’s done is done. Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it, all right?”
“All right.” Peter kissed the top of her head, and murmured into her hair, “Did that all really just happen?”
“Yes. And it was wonderful, Peter,” Claire said, pulling him back down next to her.
Peter lay next to her, slipped his arms around her, and said, “It was, wasn’t it. Do you feel guilty?”
“A little.”
“Me too.”
“But not that much.”
“Me neither.”
Peter and Claire lay together, the urgency of their dire situation momentarily forgotten behind the newfound comfort of their love for one another, no longer kept hidden away.
***
Barely ten minutes had passed when the cellblock door banged open and an infuriated Nathan Petrelli burst through it, a murderous look in his eyes. He hauled Peter off the cot and slammed his naked body against the wall.
“What the fuck was that, Peter? I lock you unconscious in a room with my daughter and this is what you do? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Peter shoved his brother off him, and Nathan flew across the room, crashing hard to the tile.
“Did you watch all of it, Nathan? I hope you especially liked the part when she was saying my name! That’s how much she thinks of you as a father! Blame it on yourself!”
Claire drew in a breath of pure panic; she didn’t think she’d ever seen either Petrelli brother this angry. She wondered what the hell was going to happen to her and Peter now.
Nathan got to his feet and rushed at him again, and he punched his little brother as hard as he could, splitting his knuckle, feeling something give in his wrist, and Peter went down.
“You’re sick, both of you,” Nathan said, cradling his wrist, flexing his fingers. “Put some fucking clothes on, Claire. Right now. Jesus Christ, Peter, you just fucked my daughter. You are so goddamned lucky, Pete. I just broke my wrist. If I could I would strangle you right now. I want to kill you.”
Peter pulled on his pants and wiped away the blood from where Nathan’s punch had opened a cut under his eye, healed completely by now. Nathan saw he was uninjured, and the look on Nathan’s face was priceless.
Peter laughed and said, “You would have to shoot me to do that, and I know you’d never be able to. You may be a heartless bastard, but you wouldn’t be able to kill me. You may as well just let us both go.”
Nathan swore loudly, knowing Peter was right. He could never live with himself if he killed him. Even after that disgusting, incestuous display he had just witnessed on the security monitor. But he could not let Peter think that he had won. “Don’t be so sure of it, Peter. You’re free to go. Get out of my sight. I swear, Peter, keep away from me, because if I ever--ever--see you again, I will personally put a bullet in the back of your head.”
Peter said, his adrenaline still singing high in his veins, “I won’t stop until I’ve stopped you, Nathan, and you know that. So you might as well do it now. Show me how corrupted and power-driven you really are. Show everyone how much you love your brother.” Peter reached beneath Nathan’s suit jacket and pulled out the gun that he knew he would find at his brother’s hip. He clicked the safety off, and put it into his brother’s uninjured hand.
“Come on, Nathan.”
Peter turned his back to him.
Claire’s heart nearly stopped. Nathan wouldn’t really do it, would he? “Peter, let’s just go. Please,” she implored.
After a few agonizing seconds, Peter turned back around and caught Nathan’s gaze in his own.
Nathan looked into his brother’s eyes, and for a split second he really wished he had done it. Peter had called him out on his bluff, and Nathan wanted to smack that look of triumph off his face.
He merely dropped the gun, defeated, and said, “Pete, you know I could never do that to you. Take Claire and get the hell out of here now. This is the last time I will extend this courtesy to either of you.”
Peter licked his lips and let out the breath he had been holding. “Until next time, Nathan,” he said, taking Claire by the hand and leading her out the door, leaving his older brother alone, his navy blue suit rumpled, his shirt untucked, shaking with anger.
He re-holstered his gun, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flipping it open. He punched the keys angrily with the forefinger of his good hand.
“My brother and my daughter are leaving. No one is to stop them unless they start causing trouble. They are free to leave. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the voice on the other end of the phone sounded. “You sound a little out of breath, Senator Petrelli. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just great. I’ll be stopping by the medical wing in a moment.” He snapped the phone closed and tried to straighten himself up the best he could, his fractured wrist aching.
His younger brother had always known how to press his buttons. If Nathan had done it--he didn’t even want to think about that.
He collapsed onto the cot, and then stood up abruptly, realizing this was where Peter and Claire had--
He struck that disturbing thought from his mind as well, leaving the cell and slamming the door shut behind him, even more angry with them than he’d been the last time they’d gotten away from him. After all that, Nathan could hardly believe he had actually let them walk away. Above all, he was furious at himself. Sometimes family was such a damned liability.
Because he loved his brother and his daughter both, Nathan Petrelli had let them go.