Fic: Impasse (Blank Canvas Remix) [Heroes; Peter/Claire, PG-13]
Title: Impasse (Blank Canvas Remix)
Author: dramaphile
Fandom: Heroes
Summary: Claire never asks where they’re going, just sits patiently curling her dyed brown hair around her fingertips while Peter drives them to yet another crappy motel in another nameless town for the night.
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: non-graphic het incest
Spoilers: up to and including 1x18, Parasite. Will probably be AU by the time it's posted
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, no infringement intended and no profits made.
A/N: I hope you like this, honey! Mucho thanks and kisses to B for the beta job!
Original Story: Impasse by hebrew_hernia
This thing is bigger than any of them, and Peter knows it best. He knows it because Nathan is in the hospital from some assassin’s bullet and Sylar came this close to getting what he wanted from Peter and Claire Bennet just appears the next day, dark-haired and sad-eyed, curled up on Peter’s mother’s couch like she has nowhere to go. And she doesn’t.
She’s Nathan’s daughter, his mother says quietly, because she’s known all this time even though no one ever thought to tell Peter that he had another niece, and one with special powers. You have to protect her. It’s not a request, it’s an order, and Peter knows not to argue, not when his mother gets that look in her eye that says she means business.
So, he takes her and runs, drives away in a car with no license plate and no destination, because the big bad something wants to lock Claire up and find out what makes her tick, and it makes Peter nauseous just thinking about it. She is precious, and her life is in his hands. Peter’s spent so much time watching people die that the opportunity to save someone’s life is overwhelming to him.
Claire never asks where they’re going, just sits patiently curling her dyed brown hair around her fingertips while Peter drives them to yet another crappy motel in another nameless town for the night. They never stay longer than two nights, just in case someone's following them, but no one's shown up yet, and Peter's not sure that anyone's even looking. But still they drive.
She's not the same girl who threw her arms around him in the hospital after they jumped off the High School Gym together and ran off Sylar. That girl was innocent and unsure of her abilities, just as Peter was confused about his own powers before Claude came around and kicked him in the butt. He wonders what the invisible man is up to now, if he's running too, or just keeping under the radar in New York and waiting for Them to give up. Claire's gotten harder, and there's this set to her jaw that wasn't there before Peter knew that she was Nathan's child and that he had to protect her at all costs, but underneath he knows where the scars don't heal in an instant. She's only got him to take care of her, now.
Problem is, she's beautiful and precious and smart and gutsy and under his charge and she's his niece. How's that for guilty fantasies?
"Peter!" she calls out from the cracked bathroom door, half her face visible through the steam, "I need a towel!" She doesn't call him "Uncle Peter," like she should, and he thinks maybe that makes it worse. If she'd start acting like he was her uncle, instead of her new best friend, he'd be able to get these thoughts out of his head. He flicks his fingers, picking up his damp towel from the floor without moving a muscle, and floats it over because he doesn't trust himself to be that close to her without doing something he'll regret. Not that he doesn't regret all the blood heading due South just at the thought of her behind that door, wearing nothing but the towel that was wrapped around his own naked waist only an hour before.
She parades out, one towel wrapped around her wet hair and the other barely clinging to her teenage curves, and picks out a pair of shorts that say "Go Team" on the butt and a pink tank top before disappearing into the bathroom again to dress. Peter thinks of Sylar, of blood, of nearly dying, of Simone's last breath, willing his erection to go away, and it's half gone by the time she comes back.
"D'you think tomorrow we can find a place with a pool?" she asks, settling onto the bed to brush her hair with idle strokes as Peter flips the channels.
"You really think it's warm enough?" he asks, wary, because he's seen enough of her body already, and a bikini is not going to help his cause.
Claire just smiles, because she knows she'll get her way, and Peter sighs and says, "We'll see what we come across."
Peter dyes his hair when his face shows up on the news one night. "Peter Petrelli, younger brother of wounded congressional hopeful Nathan Petrelli, is wanted for questioning by the FBI in regards to the assassination attempt on his brother some three weeks ago. He has been missing since the night of the shooting. If you know anything about his whereabouts-" He shuts it off and sends Claire down to the drug store to pick up some hair dye and scissors, and that night she shears his hair short and spiked, and works dye into his hair with practiced ease, changing his dark locks to streaky blond.
Peter decides, after she towel-dries his hair, that he should grow a beard, too, because his face might be too distinct.
Being on the run just got more interesting.
So she slips into his bed one night, and Peter doesn't have the strength to say no.
Don't let them take this from me, too, she whispers, stroking her fingers through his shorn hair. It still feels strange to him to run his fingers through and have it end so close to his scalp, to not feel it brushing across his forehead and getting in the way.
Claire, he says abortively, but she seals her mouth over his, tentative but not afraid, and he can't deny her this, not when she doesn't even own her own name.
You were mine, first, she murmurs against his lips, and Peter can't see the hole in that logic.
They don't get very far, and Peter thinks it's almost like high school again - first base, second base, over the clothes, under the clothes, clothes off finally after what seems like years- but he doesn't complain. This is for Claire, and he'll wait forever if he has to. He slides his hands up under her tank top, skimming over the warm skin of her sides as she gasps into his mouth and squirms and clutches the back of his neck; he brushes his thumb under the curve of her breast before sliding back down to settle on her waist.
Her neck is tanned perfection, and Peter fastens his mouth to her skin, little nips and licks and sucks that bring blood welling up just under the surface for a second or two before it disappears again, leaving a blank canvas.
"What-" she gasps as he sucks again, "What are you doing, Peter?" and he hums against her skin half in response before lifting his head, watching the bruise disappear once more.
"Trying to mark you, but you keep healing no matter how hard I try." They can't take her from him, no matter what happens, no matter where they have to hide. "I want you to know you're mine, they can't have you."
"Yours," she murmurs, smiling softly as she turns her head to kiss him and winds her fingers in his. "Don't need a mark to know that."
It's a little bit corny, lying here curled up together, holding hands and sharing soft, unhurried kisses, but neither of them makes a move to stop, and that's when Peter thinks this connection they have is just the right size for the both of them.
Author: dramaphile
Fandom: Heroes
Summary: Claire never asks where they’re going, just sits patiently curling her dyed brown hair around her fingertips while Peter drives them to yet another crappy motel in another nameless town for the night.
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: non-graphic het incest
Spoilers: up to and including 1x18, Parasite. Will probably be AU by the time it's posted
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, no infringement intended and no profits made.
A/N: I hope you like this, honey! Mucho thanks and kisses to B for the beta job!
Original Story: Impasse by hebrew_hernia
This thing is bigger than any of them, and Peter knows it best. He knows it because Nathan is in the hospital from some assassin’s bullet and Sylar came this close to getting what he wanted from Peter and Claire Bennet just appears the next day, dark-haired and sad-eyed, curled up on Peter’s mother’s couch like she has nowhere to go. And she doesn’t.
She’s Nathan’s daughter, his mother says quietly, because she’s known all this time even though no one ever thought to tell Peter that he had another niece, and one with special powers. You have to protect her. It’s not a request, it’s an order, and Peter knows not to argue, not when his mother gets that look in her eye that says she means business.
So, he takes her and runs, drives away in a car with no license plate and no destination, because the big bad something wants to lock Claire up and find out what makes her tick, and it makes Peter nauseous just thinking about it. She is precious, and her life is in his hands. Peter’s spent so much time watching people die that the opportunity to save someone’s life is overwhelming to him.
Claire never asks where they’re going, just sits patiently curling her dyed brown hair around her fingertips while Peter drives them to yet another crappy motel in another nameless town for the night. They never stay longer than two nights, just in case someone's following them, but no one's shown up yet, and Peter's not sure that anyone's even looking. But still they drive.
She's not the same girl who threw her arms around him in the hospital after they jumped off the High School Gym together and ran off Sylar. That girl was innocent and unsure of her abilities, just as Peter was confused about his own powers before Claude came around and kicked him in the butt. He wonders what the invisible man is up to now, if he's running too, or just keeping under the radar in New York and waiting for Them to give up. Claire's gotten harder, and there's this set to her jaw that wasn't there before Peter knew that she was Nathan's child and that he had to protect her at all costs, but underneath he knows where the scars don't heal in an instant. She's only got him to take care of her, now.
Problem is, she's beautiful and precious and smart and gutsy and under his charge and she's his niece. How's that for guilty fantasies?
"Peter!" she calls out from the cracked bathroom door, half her face visible through the steam, "I need a towel!" She doesn't call him "Uncle Peter," like she should, and he thinks maybe that makes it worse. If she'd start acting like he was her uncle, instead of her new best friend, he'd be able to get these thoughts out of his head. He flicks his fingers, picking up his damp towel from the floor without moving a muscle, and floats it over because he doesn't trust himself to be that close to her without doing something he'll regret. Not that he doesn't regret all the blood heading due South just at the thought of her behind that door, wearing nothing but the towel that was wrapped around his own naked waist only an hour before.
She parades out, one towel wrapped around her wet hair and the other barely clinging to her teenage curves, and picks out a pair of shorts that say "Go Team" on the butt and a pink tank top before disappearing into the bathroom again to dress. Peter thinks of Sylar, of blood, of nearly dying, of Simone's last breath, willing his erection to go away, and it's half gone by the time she comes back.
"D'you think tomorrow we can find a place with a pool?" she asks, settling onto the bed to brush her hair with idle strokes as Peter flips the channels.
"You really think it's warm enough?" he asks, wary, because he's seen enough of her body already, and a bikini is not going to help his cause.
Claire just smiles, because she knows she'll get her way, and Peter sighs and says, "We'll see what we come across."
Peter dyes his hair when his face shows up on the news one night. "Peter Petrelli, younger brother of wounded congressional hopeful Nathan Petrelli, is wanted for questioning by the FBI in regards to the assassination attempt on his brother some three weeks ago. He has been missing since the night of the shooting. If you know anything about his whereabouts-" He shuts it off and sends Claire down to the drug store to pick up some hair dye and scissors, and that night she shears his hair short and spiked, and works dye into his hair with practiced ease, changing his dark locks to streaky blond.
Peter decides, after she towel-dries his hair, that he should grow a beard, too, because his face might be too distinct.
Being on the run just got more interesting.
So she slips into his bed one night, and Peter doesn't have the strength to say no.
Don't let them take this from me, too, she whispers, stroking her fingers through his shorn hair. It still feels strange to him to run his fingers through and have it end so close to his scalp, to not feel it brushing across his forehead and getting in the way.
Claire, he says abortively, but she seals her mouth over his, tentative but not afraid, and he can't deny her this, not when she doesn't even own her own name.
You were mine, first, she murmurs against his lips, and Peter can't see the hole in that logic.
They don't get very far, and Peter thinks it's almost like high school again - first base, second base, over the clothes, under the clothes, clothes off finally after what seems like years- but he doesn't complain. This is for Claire, and he'll wait forever if he has to. He slides his hands up under her tank top, skimming over the warm skin of her sides as she gasps into his mouth and squirms and clutches the back of his neck; he brushes his thumb under the curve of her breast before sliding back down to settle on her waist.
Her neck is tanned perfection, and Peter fastens his mouth to her skin, little nips and licks and sucks that bring blood welling up just under the surface for a second or two before it disappears again, leaving a blank canvas.
"What-" she gasps as he sucks again, "What are you doing, Peter?" and he hums against her skin half in response before lifting his head, watching the bruise disappear once more.
"Trying to mark you, but you keep healing no matter how hard I try." They can't take her from him, no matter what happens, no matter where they have to hide. "I want you to know you're mine, they can't have you."
"Yours," she murmurs, smiling softly as she turns her head to kiss him and winds her fingers in his. "Don't need a mark to know that."
It's a little bit corny, lying here curled up together, holding hands and sharing soft, unhurried kisses, but neither of them makes a move to stop, and that's when Peter thinks this connection they have is just the right size for the both of them.