Fic; Snow. Fall. [Heroes, NC-17]
Title: Snow. Fall.
Author: sweetbelle07
Fandom: Heroes
Character(s): Peter/Claire, Adam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Peter saves Claire's life.
A/N: Written in honor of the 38 straight hours of snow my state seemed to think was necessary. I don't share the sentiment when I have to walk five minutes uphill to eat. Also almost completely AU. Totally PWP smut.
It's not possible for an indestructible girl to freeze to death. Or it shouldn't be, she amends in her head, forcing herself to continue putting one foot in front of the other. There's a trail in shin deep snow behind her, stretching for miles. It's the only sign of life in the forest. This is not a good sign.
She knows one thing for certain. If she doesn't find shelter and find it soon, she's going to die.
She doesn't know how far she makes it before her strength gives out on her completely. It's too cold. It's been too long since her last meal. Even quickly regenerating cells can't counter that. A normal person would've been dead hours ago, if that's any consolation. It's really not.
She curls up in the snow, trying to preserve the last of her warmth. She didn't want to die like this. Not in the middle of nowhere, lost and running and confused and scared and cold and alone. She shouldn't have been able to die at all and now she is and it's nothing like she thought it would be.
Her eyes are two seconds away from closing for the last time when warm fingers brush her cheek. It's an angel, she decides in her delirium. An angel sent to help make the transition from this life to the next easier.
"What are you doing?"
"She's still alive."
"Now is not the time to be picking up a little pet for yourself, Peter."
The angel ignores his companion and slides his arms under her tiny body, lifting her in his arms like she weighs absolutely nothing at all. She instinctively buries herself into the warmth she finds in his chest.
"I can't leave her," the angel says.
His companion sighs. "I really wish you weren't such an empath some days."
--
She wakes with a start. It takes her a minute but she's pretty sure that she's not dead. The bed isn't that comfortable, after all, and the pillow smells like something between sweat and man and all of her joints have this ache to them that she hasn't felt in a long time.
She sits up a little, shivering as the heavy blankets fall away from her. She's in a small bedroom in what is probably a log cabin. Whoever lives here doesn't have many things or is extremely neat because there's nothing to look at in the room besides the bed and the dresser against the opposite wall.
There's voices in the next room. She can hear them under the crack in the door. One of them is her angel. She smiles a little.
She's not dead.
She pushes the blankets down and shivers harder. The angel doesn't appear to believe in central heating. So she grabs one of the smaller blankets off the bed and wraps it around herself before creeping over to the door and pressing her ear against it.
The voices have stopped. All she can hear is the crackling of a fire and she feels pretty brave about opening the door. The angel and his friend hopefully won't mind her taking advantage of their fire if she asks nicely. Actually, there isn't a sign of either one of them so she decides that they won't mind for them.
She scampers across the tiny living room, seating herself inches away from the fire. A normal person would be flinching at the amount of heat pouring over her skin. She enjoys it. She thinks it's quite possibly the best thing she's ever felt.
"Careful," the angel says from somewhere behind her. "You might burn yourself."
Spooked, she turns to face him and tries not to look as scared as she feels. He's got a kind face, her angel and an even kinder smile and she gets the feeling that he couldn't hurt her if he wanted to and he really doesn't want to.
"Come," he says, moving to sit on the floor next to her. He doesn't flinch at the proximity of the fire either. "Let's see those fingers and toes."
She frowns in confusion.
"Frostbite," he says simply, reaching for the corner of the blanket and tugging it out of her grasp.
"That's really--" she starts to protest, biting down on her lip as he inspects her fingers and finds them to be fine. Of course they would be. Invincible girls can freeze to death but they'll look perfect as they do it.
"...not... necessary," she finishes lamely as he inspects her toes.
"You can heal," he says simply, raising his dark hazel eyes to her face. A piece of his hair is falling in front of them. She doesn't even notice. He knows what she can do. He knew it before she even said anything. He might've known it when he picked her up in the snow.
"How did you--"
Her voice dies because he smiles at her suddenly and sticks his hand into the fire. She watches in horror as his flesh turns to black and starts to fall away. It smells horrible and why the hell is he still smiling? He pulls his hand out when there's nothing more then blackened bone left and her horror turns to surprise and then understanding when his flesh starts to come back. A minute later and it's like his hand is as good as new.
He holds it out to her. "I'm Peter," he says softly.
She takes his hand. "Claire."
--
After he makes her dinner and then practically but forces her to eat all of it, she needs to keep up her strength after all, he pulls her back into the living room and wastes no time in wrapping her up in a blanket.
"I'm fine," she protests with a laugh.
"Just making sure," he answers with a smile.
She smiles back and watches his face for a long moment before dropping her head to his shoulder. "How did you find me?" she asks quietly.
"I tripped over you," he tells her, sliding his hand up and down her arm. It feels warmer then any blanket or fire could. "Sorry," he adds like it matters. It doesn't. He saved her life. He can step on her if he wants. "I couldn't see you under all the snow."
"It's fine," she replies, tilting her head back to give him a slow, shy smile. "You're totally my hero."
She swears she sees a light blush creeping up his cheeks before he shakes his head and looks away. "I was just in the right place at the right time."
"Not according to your friend," she points out. He looks back at her, a curious expression on his face. "He called me a pet."
He smiles thinly. "Adam's... difficult."
"And where is Adam now?"
"Out."
"When will he be back?"
"Probably not until morning."
She nods once. "Good," she says simply, picking up her head. The blanket he so carefully tucked around her falls away as she sits up and maneuvers herself into his lap. He seems more annoyed that she isn't as warm as she possibly could be then with having a lapful of blonde indestructible girl. She runs her eyes over his face before leaning in and lightly touching her lips to his.
He responds immediately, pushing his mouth against hers roughly. His tongue makes its way into her mouth with a tiny gasp on her part and oh God, she really didn't expect this to happen. She expected him to let her show her thanks before gently sliding her out of his lap. This new twist isn't leaving her complaining, however.
She arches against him, sliding her hands into his hair and holding his head exactly where it is in case he gets the bright and stupid idea to pull away from her. She makes a tiny sound, hot and needy against his lips, squirming in his lap as she does it. All this fabric is in her way suddenly. She wants skin and nothing but skin and she wants it now.
That would be, of course, when his good conscious kicks in and his fingers, which were making little patterns on her back, still. "Claire," he says almost like he's chastising her. "We can't."
"Why not?" She's pouting. She can feel it. She can almost see the look on her face in her head. It makes her a little angry that five minutes of his mouth on hers has reduced her to pouting.
"We just met."
"It doesn't feel like it," she points out.
He has to agree with that. But he doesn't have to let her know that and he doesn't have to think about why he suddenly feels so connected to this tiny, blonde girl.
"You almost died," he tries next.
"But I didn't."
"You should be resting."
"But I don't need to be," she snaps. "I'm not made of glass."
"I know but--"
"And I want you to touch me," she continues, talking over him. "Please?"
Whether she realizes it or not, she has one hell of a puppy dog face. It eats away at a little piece of his soul, the side of him that's stubborn and moral and just and he knows it's only a matter of time before he gives into her and that look.
He slides her off his lap and she actually makes a whimper of protest before he stands suddenly and pulls her up with him. His lips come down on hers and she smiles, wrapping her arms around her neck. They're really going to do this. She's really going to give herself to a man she just met. Her skin tingles from the excitement of it.
He tries to pull her towards the bedroom but she refuses with a shake of her head. It's cold in there. They'd have to huddle under the blankets the entire time and she wants to look at him and she wants him to see her and neither of those things can happen in his tiny, dark, cold bedroom.
She tugs him to the ground before the fire, smiling softly to herself when he pauses to grab the abandoned blanket off the couch and drapes it across the rug that already sits there. Then, after he's placed her on top of the blanket, he lets her pull him down to her, settling between her thighs like he belongs there.
He kisses her as she tries to tug off his sweater, a task she can't concentrate on when he keeps doing that thing with his tongue that makes her eyes roll back into her head. "You're making..." she gasps as his lips close over the pulse point on her neck. "... this..." she yanks on the bottom of his sweater, getting it level with his armpits. "... difficult."
He laughs against her skin but doesn't lift his mouth until he's done making a mark on her neck and watching it disappear a few seconds later thanks to her ability. "You're being impatient," he counters, making himself seem like a little bit of a hypocrite as he pulls off his sweater and then goes for hers in the same fluid movement. She sighs once both pieces of clothing are tossed off to the side and his lips close over hers.
Her fingers take to exploring his skin as they kiss, loving the feel of his lean frame under her fingertips. He's nothing spectacular. He's actually on the skinny side. But she loves it.
He jerks suddenly when her hands skim across his spine and was that a giggle? She pulls her mouth away from his and looks at him curiously as she goes back to touch his spine again. He spasms a little and that was a giggle.
"You're ticklish," she proclaims, laughing softly.
"No," he responds immediately, giving her a sort of warning look. "Don't you--"
His threat dies in his throat as she digs her fingers into his spine with a specific purpose this time and he's powerless against it. He can do a lot of things with his mind, she discovered during dinner, but he can't stand up against a tickle attack. He tries though and that has to count for something. Even if it does end up with him rocking his hips into hers in a sort of haphazard grind that makes her forget about tickling him all together.
"Peter," she gasps, moaning softly as his hips continue their movement, even after she's taken her hands off his spine. "Please."
He makes quick work of her pants and then his, coming back to rest between her thighs. It's a little like coming home. That should strike him as weird but it doesn't at the moment. It might later but he decides that he really doesn't care about later.
"Do it," she whispers, lifting her hips invitingly.
He does, pushing into her lithe body with a single, hard thrust. She gasps at the invasion, arching her back out of instinct so he can do deeper and then making an odd little whimpermoangasp when he does and it feels amazing. It's as simple as that.
She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, holding him in a little cage made of her body as he thrusts into her, over and over until she can't see anything but stars and can't stand it anymore. She comes hard and fast, gasping out his name against the hollow of his throat.
He groans and stills until her body stops spasming around him. Then he starts all over again, slow and deep at first and working his way up to thrusts that would probably make her bleed if she were a normal girl. She writhes under him, enjoying the rough treatment of her body. It shows her that she really isn't dead.
His release sneaks up on her, and him too, she suspects, if the look of surprised ecstasy on his face is anything to go by. He whispers her name into her mouth and she comes again, riding the waves of pleasure crashing over her until her body gives out and she slumps against the blanket.
He hovers over her for a few seconds, catching his breath before rolling off to the side. She's not sure how he does it but he manages to get the blanket out from under her and he drapes it over the both of them. She doesn't really need it. The fire on one side and him on the other are more then enough to keep her warm.
"Peter?" she whispers, touching his cheek with her knuckles.
"Hmm?"
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
His eyes open slowly and he smiles at her. "No," he murmurs, kissing her softly. "I believe in destiny."
That makes her giggle and she kisses him again. "I like destiny," she says, shifting in his arms a little.
He laughs with her and nods, touching his lips to hers, then her cheek, and lastly her forehead. "Destiny does have its perks," he agrees before he falls asleep.
--
She wakes up, wrapped in a mix of Peter and blanket with an almost dead fire to her right and an amused looking man who she assumes is Adam standing over them.
"I guess you'll be his pet after all," he says simply.
She looks over at Peter who is still sleeping and runs her fingers down the side of his face before nodding. "I guess I will be," she answers.
Adam laughs suddenly. "I always thought he needed a good pet," he tells her with a simple nod.
Claire smiles. If being Peter's pet means more nights like last night, then she'll put the collar on herself.
Author: sweetbelle07
Fandom: Heroes
Character(s): Peter/Claire, Adam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Peter saves Claire's life.
A/N: Written in honor of the 38 straight hours of snow my state seemed to think was necessary. I don't share the sentiment when I have to walk five minutes uphill to eat. Also almost completely AU. Totally PWP smut.
It's not possible for an indestructible girl to freeze to death. Or it shouldn't be, she amends in her head, forcing herself to continue putting one foot in front of the other. There's a trail in shin deep snow behind her, stretching for miles. It's the only sign of life in the forest. This is not a good sign.
She knows one thing for certain. If she doesn't find shelter and find it soon, she's going to die.
She doesn't know how far she makes it before her strength gives out on her completely. It's too cold. It's been too long since her last meal. Even quickly regenerating cells can't counter that. A normal person would've been dead hours ago, if that's any consolation. It's really not.
She curls up in the snow, trying to preserve the last of her warmth. She didn't want to die like this. Not in the middle of nowhere, lost and running and confused and scared and cold and alone. She shouldn't have been able to die at all and now she is and it's nothing like she thought it would be.
Her eyes are two seconds away from closing for the last time when warm fingers brush her cheek. It's an angel, she decides in her delirium. An angel sent to help make the transition from this life to the next easier.
"What are you doing?"
"She's still alive."
"Now is not the time to be picking up a little pet for yourself, Peter."
The angel ignores his companion and slides his arms under her tiny body, lifting her in his arms like she weighs absolutely nothing at all. She instinctively buries herself into the warmth she finds in his chest.
"I can't leave her," the angel says.
His companion sighs. "I really wish you weren't such an empath some days."
--
She wakes with a start. It takes her a minute but she's pretty sure that she's not dead. The bed isn't that comfortable, after all, and the pillow smells like something between sweat and man and all of her joints have this ache to them that she hasn't felt in a long time.
She sits up a little, shivering as the heavy blankets fall away from her. She's in a small bedroom in what is probably a log cabin. Whoever lives here doesn't have many things or is extremely neat because there's nothing to look at in the room besides the bed and the dresser against the opposite wall.
There's voices in the next room. She can hear them under the crack in the door. One of them is her angel. She smiles a little.
She's not dead.
She pushes the blankets down and shivers harder. The angel doesn't appear to believe in central heating. So she grabs one of the smaller blankets off the bed and wraps it around herself before creeping over to the door and pressing her ear against it.
The voices have stopped. All she can hear is the crackling of a fire and she feels pretty brave about opening the door. The angel and his friend hopefully won't mind her taking advantage of their fire if she asks nicely. Actually, there isn't a sign of either one of them so she decides that they won't mind for them.
She scampers across the tiny living room, seating herself inches away from the fire. A normal person would be flinching at the amount of heat pouring over her skin. She enjoys it. She thinks it's quite possibly the best thing she's ever felt.
"Careful," the angel says from somewhere behind her. "You might burn yourself."
Spooked, she turns to face him and tries not to look as scared as she feels. He's got a kind face, her angel and an even kinder smile and she gets the feeling that he couldn't hurt her if he wanted to and he really doesn't want to.
"Come," he says, moving to sit on the floor next to her. He doesn't flinch at the proximity of the fire either. "Let's see those fingers and toes."
She frowns in confusion.
"Frostbite," he says simply, reaching for the corner of the blanket and tugging it out of her grasp.
"That's really--" she starts to protest, biting down on her lip as he inspects her fingers and finds them to be fine. Of course they would be. Invincible girls can freeze to death but they'll look perfect as they do it.
"...not... necessary," she finishes lamely as he inspects her toes.
"You can heal," he says simply, raising his dark hazel eyes to her face. A piece of his hair is falling in front of them. She doesn't even notice. He knows what she can do. He knew it before she even said anything. He might've known it when he picked her up in the snow.
"How did you--"
Her voice dies because he smiles at her suddenly and sticks his hand into the fire. She watches in horror as his flesh turns to black and starts to fall away. It smells horrible and why the hell is he still smiling? He pulls his hand out when there's nothing more then blackened bone left and her horror turns to surprise and then understanding when his flesh starts to come back. A minute later and it's like his hand is as good as new.
He holds it out to her. "I'm Peter," he says softly.
She takes his hand. "Claire."
--
After he makes her dinner and then practically but forces her to eat all of it, she needs to keep up her strength after all, he pulls her back into the living room and wastes no time in wrapping her up in a blanket.
"I'm fine," she protests with a laugh.
"Just making sure," he answers with a smile.
She smiles back and watches his face for a long moment before dropping her head to his shoulder. "How did you find me?" she asks quietly.
"I tripped over you," he tells her, sliding his hand up and down her arm. It feels warmer then any blanket or fire could. "Sorry," he adds like it matters. It doesn't. He saved her life. He can step on her if he wants. "I couldn't see you under all the snow."
"It's fine," she replies, tilting her head back to give him a slow, shy smile. "You're totally my hero."
She swears she sees a light blush creeping up his cheeks before he shakes his head and looks away. "I was just in the right place at the right time."
"Not according to your friend," she points out. He looks back at her, a curious expression on his face. "He called me a pet."
He smiles thinly. "Adam's... difficult."
"And where is Adam now?"
"Out."
"When will he be back?"
"Probably not until morning."
She nods once. "Good," she says simply, picking up her head. The blanket he so carefully tucked around her falls away as she sits up and maneuvers herself into his lap. He seems more annoyed that she isn't as warm as she possibly could be then with having a lapful of blonde indestructible girl. She runs her eyes over his face before leaning in and lightly touching her lips to his.
He responds immediately, pushing his mouth against hers roughly. His tongue makes its way into her mouth with a tiny gasp on her part and oh God, she really didn't expect this to happen. She expected him to let her show her thanks before gently sliding her out of his lap. This new twist isn't leaving her complaining, however.
She arches against him, sliding her hands into his hair and holding his head exactly where it is in case he gets the bright and stupid idea to pull away from her. She makes a tiny sound, hot and needy against his lips, squirming in his lap as she does it. All this fabric is in her way suddenly. She wants skin and nothing but skin and she wants it now.
That would be, of course, when his good conscious kicks in and his fingers, which were making little patterns on her back, still. "Claire," he says almost like he's chastising her. "We can't."
"Why not?" She's pouting. She can feel it. She can almost see the look on her face in her head. It makes her a little angry that five minutes of his mouth on hers has reduced her to pouting.
"We just met."
"It doesn't feel like it," she points out.
He has to agree with that. But he doesn't have to let her know that and he doesn't have to think about why he suddenly feels so connected to this tiny, blonde girl.
"You almost died," he tries next.
"But I didn't."
"You should be resting."
"But I don't need to be," she snaps. "I'm not made of glass."
"I know but--"
"And I want you to touch me," she continues, talking over him. "Please?"
Whether she realizes it or not, she has one hell of a puppy dog face. It eats away at a little piece of his soul, the side of him that's stubborn and moral and just and he knows it's only a matter of time before he gives into her and that look.
He slides her off his lap and she actually makes a whimper of protest before he stands suddenly and pulls her up with him. His lips come down on hers and she smiles, wrapping her arms around her neck. They're really going to do this. She's really going to give herself to a man she just met. Her skin tingles from the excitement of it.
He tries to pull her towards the bedroom but she refuses with a shake of her head. It's cold in there. They'd have to huddle under the blankets the entire time and she wants to look at him and she wants him to see her and neither of those things can happen in his tiny, dark, cold bedroom.
She tugs him to the ground before the fire, smiling softly to herself when he pauses to grab the abandoned blanket off the couch and drapes it across the rug that already sits there. Then, after he's placed her on top of the blanket, he lets her pull him down to her, settling between her thighs like he belongs there.
He kisses her as she tries to tug off his sweater, a task she can't concentrate on when he keeps doing that thing with his tongue that makes her eyes roll back into her head. "You're making..." she gasps as his lips close over the pulse point on her neck. "... this..." she yanks on the bottom of his sweater, getting it level with his armpits. "... difficult."
He laughs against her skin but doesn't lift his mouth until he's done making a mark on her neck and watching it disappear a few seconds later thanks to her ability. "You're being impatient," he counters, making himself seem like a little bit of a hypocrite as he pulls off his sweater and then goes for hers in the same fluid movement. She sighs once both pieces of clothing are tossed off to the side and his lips close over hers.
Her fingers take to exploring his skin as they kiss, loving the feel of his lean frame under her fingertips. He's nothing spectacular. He's actually on the skinny side. But she loves it.
He jerks suddenly when her hands skim across his spine and was that a giggle? She pulls her mouth away from his and looks at him curiously as she goes back to touch his spine again. He spasms a little and that was a giggle.
"You're ticklish," she proclaims, laughing softly.
"No," he responds immediately, giving her a sort of warning look. "Don't you--"
His threat dies in his throat as she digs her fingers into his spine with a specific purpose this time and he's powerless against it. He can do a lot of things with his mind, she discovered during dinner, but he can't stand up against a tickle attack. He tries though and that has to count for something. Even if it does end up with him rocking his hips into hers in a sort of haphazard grind that makes her forget about tickling him all together.
"Peter," she gasps, moaning softly as his hips continue their movement, even after she's taken her hands off his spine. "Please."
He makes quick work of her pants and then his, coming back to rest between her thighs. It's a little like coming home. That should strike him as weird but it doesn't at the moment. It might later but he decides that he really doesn't care about later.
"Do it," she whispers, lifting her hips invitingly.
He does, pushing into her lithe body with a single, hard thrust. She gasps at the invasion, arching her back out of instinct so he can do deeper and then making an odd little whimpermoangasp when he does and it feels amazing. It's as simple as that.
She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, holding him in a little cage made of her body as he thrusts into her, over and over until she can't see anything but stars and can't stand it anymore. She comes hard and fast, gasping out his name against the hollow of his throat.
He groans and stills until her body stops spasming around him. Then he starts all over again, slow and deep at first and working his way up to thrusts that would probably make her bleed if she were a normal girl. She writhes under him, enjoying the rough treatment of her body. It shows her that she really isn't dead.
His release sneaks up on her, and him too, she suspects, if the look of surprised ecstasy on his face is anything to go by. He whispers her name into her mouth and she comes again, riding the waves of pleasure crashing over her until her body gives out and she slumps against the blanket.
He hovers over her for a few seconds, catching his breath before rolling off to the side. She's not sure how he does it but he manages to get the blanket out from under her and he drapes it over the both of them. She doesn't really need it. The fire on one side and him on the other are more then enough to keep her warm.
"Peter?" she whispers, touching his cheek with her knuckles.
"Hmm?"
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
His eyes open slowly and he smiles at her. "No," he murmurs, kissing her softly. "I believe in destiny."
That makes her giggle and she kisses him again. "I like destiny," she says, shifting in his arms a little.
He laughs with her and nods, touching his lips to hers, then her cheek, and lastly her forehead. "Destiny does have its perks," he agrees before he falls asleep.
--
She wakes up, wrapped in a mix of Peter and blanket with an almost dead fire to her right and an amused looking man who she assumes is Adam standing over them.
"I guess you'll be his pet after all," he says simply.
She looks over at Peter who is still sleeping and runs her fingers down the side of his face before nodding. "I guess I will be," she answers.
Adam laughs suddenly. "I always thought he needed a good pet," he tells her with a simple nod.
Claire smiles. If being Peter's pet means more nights like last night, then she'll put the collar on herself.